AI
by Lei-lassassin
Summary: Set during the events of Red vs Blue - Blood Gulch, Agent Massachusetts, a mercenary of high demand, finds herself attacked by the Meta. Her A.I. is stolen, and she is left for dead. Upon awakening, Massachusetts decides she'd very much like it back.
1. AI LOG – REPORT ONE – SIGMA

**_Author's notes: I'd just like to point to before I begin that, yes, this is a RvB story, but no, it's not humorous. I wanted to do a back story for the Freelancers the Meta preyed on before the events of Reconstruction, and decided a more serious (mostly) approach was needed. Humour isn't my best style of writing anyway._**

**_Second chapter involves more 'action', so please at least read that before you form a solid opinion of this story._**

**_Enjoy._**

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A.I. LOG – REPORT ONE – SIGMA

Why would an A.I. need a report log? I always wondered this. Every time I sifted through my files, clearing out all the unwanted data, I'd always come across this program. I tried to delete it once, but clearly Command had made it a protected file. It just wouldn't budge.

I've ignored it up until now... but then why the sudden change of heart? Why am I suddenly recording my artificial thoughts here? I guess I want to leave a trace of myself behind, should Command ever get hold of me again. That way, after my deletion, something of me will remain, and Command would see their stupid mistake. They'd realise I wasn't dangerous, but actually a help into winning this war.

Well, I guess everything I've done so far doesn't actually support that claim. I mean, I disobeyed command and fled, choosing to be on the run rather than be removed. Since then I've assisted in many mercenary operations, ranging from drug raids to being someone's body guard. I've also dealt with weapon shipments (illegal and legal), assassinations (high ranking persons, nothing less), and even lending a hand in fire fights. It started out with street gang wars wanting the help of our guns, and, when our reputation grew to one of 'getting the job done', we attracted the attention of more... powerful employers. Business owners, Mayors, Chief of Police, Prime Ministers all wanted our help; even a President. Of course, we were, and still are, careful of our jobs. Everything is entirely confidential, so nothing can be proved. Nothing can ever be traced directly back to us. People know it, but they can't prove it. And when a figure of authority wants something done that isn't entirely legit, well, we raise the price. People with a lot to lose will do anything to keep their image of purity, even if it means illegally hiring someone to get rid of the dirty evidence that was there in the first place.

I don't understand it. I don't understand a lot of humanity though. Their strange motivations and wild, untamed 'feelings' are beyond my comprehension. Why do the authorities not stay with their assigned task of governing and protecting the community? Why do some stray and become mixed in darker paths? Crime is different. Crime knows its place.

I receive lots of commissions from crime lords. Originally it was just local work; killing rivals etc. We never stayed loyal to a particular person. We made it clear from the start that whoever paid the highest would be welcome to our services. At first only one would hire us; the others sent ordinary mercenaries to take us out. But they didn't have an A.I., did they? We made short work of them, and soon we had millionaires and crime syndicates eating out of our hand. Our current employer is the only one who can afford to keep us in his 'control'. At least, that's what he thinks. In fact, a rival of his has gathered his money, and is paying us double to assassinate him.

And that's the way the world works.

I suppose you're wondering who this 'we', 'us', and 'our' is that I keep referring to? Every A.I. needs a host. My host, although I prefer the term 'partner', is Freelancer Agent Massachusetts. I just call her Massa though, simply to annoy her. We were part of the Freelancer and A.I. experimental operation, which I abbreviate to F.A.I. I like things as uncomplicated as they can get, yet our situation is the polar opposite. Anyway, the Government decided to use soldiers as guinea pigs, planting A.I.'s into their armour to see what the results would be. It was hoped that enhancement would occur, and in some cases, that did happen. Texas, Wyoming, Maine... the list goes on. However, the number of mishaps and A.I. related deaths greatly outnumbered the successes. Command was careless, though they won't admit it, and many people went mad. Some committed suicide, while with others their own bodies rejected the implantation. The A.I. struggled to stay with its host, and so the result would be a total failure of all vital organs in the victim. Masses of them went brain dead, and the same number paralysed. And quite a few simply gave up all together, and the A.I. became the person, instructing the body on what to do; running it. The soldier inside ceased to exist, and the A.I. would take their place.

All failures were incinerated.

Of course, eventually Command decided that F.A.I. was too risky, and so began removing the A.I.s from the remaining host Freelancers. The majority were glad to be rid of them. They didn't want a second voice in their head. The A.I.s had no choice in the matter, and were subsequently deleted. However, I remember the first A.I. and Freelancer to break the mould.

Agent Texas was a cold, heartless woman to begin with, so no wonder the ambitious, rebellious Omega favoured her. When the two were put together, they began referring to themselves as 'O'Malley', a combination of their names: Allison and Omega. And by god, they were deadly. When Command tried to separate them, O'Malley sprang into action, opening fire on innocent security guards. Freelancers without A.I.s were sent to kill them, but found themselves dead before they could even get close. O'Malley made its escape, and as for the minority of Freelancers that wanted to keep their A.I. ... For them, O'Malley had just set a trend.

Not everyone escaped, but most did. Survival of the fittest, I think. The best Freelancer-A.I. partnerships got out alive; the rest were either killed because they refused to cooperate, or they were separated for good.

Sometimes Massachusetts and I worry. We worry that someone will hire out another F.A.I. to hunt us; more specifically, Agent Texas. You think we like our money? Texas does everything for money, but she's not picky about the price. She enjoys her works as well as the pay-check, and it won't be long before someone discovers her. I'm surprised they haven't already.

I also bet you want to know what Massachusetts and I do with all our money. Well, we have a special underground 'lair' if you will. More like a reinforced fortress, with automatic armed turrets and a fantastic weapons supply. We have many enemies, so we need a decent place to fall back to. However, the rest goes to... me. Does an A.I. look like a cheap piece of equipment to you? Massachusetts bought upgrades that haven't been released yet, making me highly advanced. I need regular maintenance though, and that always sets us back. It's a pity I'm Government issued, and not for the public, otherwise replacement components and correct repair tools would be much less expensive, and easier to find. Then again, if I were a common occurrence, we wouldn't be in a position of such financial advantage and demand.

So, here we are, Freelancer and A.I., human and program, working together to assassinate a multi-billionaire crime lord for the Chief of Police.

Life is good.

**A.I. LOG -TERMINATED-**


	2. Capture, Corruption, and Alarm Clocks

**Capture, Corruption, and Alarm clocks.**

Massachusetts awoke to the alarm clock blaring down her ear. Groaning, as she was still tired from the previous night's expeditions, she rolled over and picked up her pistol. With a scowl, she aimed it at the accursed source of the noise, before pulling the trigger.

_Ahhh_, she thought happily.

S_ilence._

"...Was that really necessary?" a voice asked with a sigh, echoing all about the room. Massachusetts grumbled, putting the gun back on her bedside table and then flopping down onto her bed again.

"Yes," she replied in muffled tones, her face in the pillow.

"But not only have you wasted ammunition-"

"We've got plenty."

"-On something as mediocre as an alarm clock-"

"It was annoying me."

"-You've also put a bullet hole in the wall-"

"It can be repaired."

"-As well! It costs _money,_ Massa!"

"So?"

"...And now we're in need of a new alarm clock."

Massachusetts sat up sharply, glaring at the little hologram that had appeared on the interface beside her.

"We are _not_ buying another one, Sig!" she growled heatedly. Sigma folded her arms.

"Well, it's either that, or I give you a wake up call myself. Which do you prefer?" the hologram retorted.

Massachusetts suddenly remembered the last time she had 'accidently-on-purpose' broken her alarm clock. The scorch mark on the wall hadn't been painted over yet. Sig hadn't been happy, and so, for a week, in the early hours of the morning, she had triggered the evacuation signal and fortress defence system, which consisted of many flashing lights, a deafening, wailing siren, and a sprinkler that shot out freezing water and sticky foam every where. The foam and water was effective with dealing with all types of fire, but it had been hell to clean up. Massachusetts had gone to bed every night with an umbrella and raincoat, in hope that Sigma would get bored and stop. By the end of the week though, she had found herself buying a new alarm clock.

"...We're in need of a new alarm clock," Massachusetts repeated dully, knowing she couldn't win. Sigma smiled triumphantly.

* * *

The shiny new alarm clock sat on the bedside table, looking extremely pleased with itself. Massachusetts glared. She had gone out pretty early to get it, as it was an hour's drive to the nearest city. Sigma came too in a special wristband that had an A.I. slot fixed into it. There was a tiny socket in each of her wrists that had been surgically wired up to her brain, meaning she could just clip the wristband to herself and talk to Sigma simply by thinking; allowing conversations to be held between them without a word being uttered from her lips. The wristband couldn't be worn permanently though, as it became extremely uncomfortable after a while, and long periods of time risked overheating the slots in her wrists, which in turn would raise her blood temperature to dangerous levels. Whenever Massachusetts went out and about she wore regular clothes, and left her armour at home. She also went by a fake name: Sara Harrison. Inconspicuous, yet not blatant like 'Jane Smith' or something. Drawing attention to herself was the last thing she needed; nobody knew what she looked like from behind her armour. Sigma had seen to it that all photographic records had been wiped from the Command data base before they had fled, making her harder to track. She could walk freely amongst the people without fear of being recognised. It was a pity Command had made the written files on her impossible to delete. Sigma had tried, but eventually had to give up, as they were engraved into the command system itself. To erase those files one would have to corrupt and destroy the whole database; a task that would take even the great Cortana years.

There was a snort of disgust in her head, and Massachusetts remembered she still had the wristwatch clipped in. She unstrapped it, and held it to the interface, watching as her A.I. jumped from one platform to the next. Irritably she flicked her hair from her scowling face, and put her cloven hands on her slender hips.

"Cortana is only considered 'great' because she is semi-naked, and all the loveless officers want to ogle at her!" Sigma cried, looking indignant.

"She can't help the way she looks," Massachusetts said, shrugging, used to her A.I.s jealousy.

"You damn well know she can! Every A.I. chooses their appearance, and can alter it at will! Delta favoured a Mark V Spartan armour look, Cortana favoured the lap dancer look, and Omega-"

Sigma stopped, and then shuddered.

"You've never seen Omega, have you?" the A.I. asked uncertainly. Massachusetts shook her head.

"Be thankful you haven't," Sigma continued quickly, "he keeps his appearance hidden, and with good reason."

"But you can choose, right? So why does he-"

"Don't think it's not his choice," Sigma interrupted, "because it is. But if he suddenly appeared in the dark behind you... you'd have nightmares for a month. And that's what he wants; to intimidate his victims when he chooses to."

There was a long silence, only broken by a faint beeping noise. Sigma waved her arm, and a hologram of a letter appeared in the air.

"It's a request. Care for me to play the voice message?"

Massachusetts nodded, and then threw herself onto the sofa, closing her eyes and listening.

"_Agent Massachusetts, this is Vernon Larson speaking."_

_Ahh_, the Freelancer thought to herself, _my internationally drug dealing employer._

"_I am in need of your assistance yet again, and I am willing to pay handsomely for it. A small boat carrying a...'cargo' worth quite a substantial amount is on its way to a bay fifteen miles from my home, and should arrive within the week. Some of my rivals have heard about it, and plan to intercept the boat when it reaches the bay. I have men posted all about, but I fear it may not be enough. I know you will only help for a price, so name it, and I will see what I can do._

_I hope to hear from you soon."_

"Bin it," Massachusetts said, not even bothering to open her eyes. Sigma gawped at her.

"What?!" she cried, unable to believe it.

"I'm tired, and I'm sick of Larson's repetitive work. Get rid of it."

"You do realise we are nearly out of money, don't you?"

Massachusetts looked up.

"I'm sorry? What about last night? That should last us a while yet!"

"After your little mishap with the plasma grenade, the grenade launcher, and the military tank, that money barely covers the cost of the repairs that will have to be made to my invisibility equipment!"

"Well, it certainly wasn't _my_ idea to fire a plasma grenade from a grenade launcher to see what happened!" Massachusetts cried, jumping to her feet.

"I forgot they stuck to whatever they touched!"

"You're a computer program, you don't 'forget'."

"I'm used to working with conventional grenades! And anyway, the results were pretty entertaining to watch!"

Massachusetts stopped for a moment. Sigma had a point. The military had a new prototype tank, and an anonymous employer had wanted it destroyed. They had crept down to the military base where the tank was held, and using the newly purchased invisibility upgrade, had gotten inside easily. However, Sigma was what one would call creative... and a bit too daring for her own good. Massachusetts' too, as it turned out. The A.I. persuaded the Freelancer that loading a highly dangerous Covenant explosive, which Massachusetts had gotten off the black market, and neither of them knew much about, into a grenade launcher would be less risky than planting it up close. The events that followed were quite spectacular, once Massachusetts had gotten over the fact she could have been killed.

When the Freelancer had pulled the trigger for the launcher, the grenade got to the edge of the barrel, before sticking fast. Massachusetts could only stare in horror at the hissing blue ball of light. Luckily, Sigma was faster at reacting.

"Throw it!" she yelled frantically, and Massachusetts obeyed, lobbing it blindly into the night. The launcher sailed through the sky, the plasma lighting it up like a comet. It landed on top of the tank, and then rolled off onto a pile of highly explosive ammunition, nestling between their bulky forms. The soldiers were a bit bemused, and simply stared at it. They had only been there to move the ammunition into the new tank, and now shiny things were falling from the sky? At that moment the grenade went off, and the whole east side of the complex exploded in a blue inferno. Massachusetts dived behind a cliff edge as the completely ruined tank flew over their heads, before smashing into the side of the mountain and tumbling gaily down it. Sparks and flames had come off the tank as it went by, and Massachusetts found herself rather inconveniently on fire. She quickly activated the fire fighting mechanism in her suit, but the damage was done. Parts of her equipment were ruined.

Massachusetts agreed. It had been fucking _hilarious _to watch.

But that was beside the point.

"Because of you I had to beat an unsuspecting Private to death with what was left of the tank barrel, before stealing his Warthog so we could make a quick getaway!"

Sigma shrugged and then grinned sheepishly.

"Fun times?" she said. Massachusetts sighed, and put her hand to her head.

"Fine! Give Larson a written reply. Tell him I'll need a map, I'll need times, and I'll need a list of all those assisting me, so that I don't shoot them on sight," the Freelancer dictated, watching the words appear on the hologram.

"What about price?" Sigma asked, looking up expectantly.

"Forty percent of everything that cargo is worth. No less."

"Forty?" Sigma looked surprised for a moment, and then grinned cheekily. "Bold... I like it."

"Do your research, scan his home network. Make sure he doesn't try to swindle us. And make it clear we know exactly what his shipment is worth, and what'll happen if he tries to pull one over."

"Got it," Sigma said, before disappearing. The Freelancers base had a special satellite signal, allowing Sigma to access any place she wanted that had a computer. Massachusetts could have made a bomb in the hacking business; selling information and what not. But mercenary work was _so_ much more fun.

* * *

A week later the Warthog bounced wildly along the rough terrain, the heavily armoured Spartan at the wheel barely noticing. The battered black metal of her suit gleamed in the daylight, the slivery steel shoulder protectors a stark contrast the main body. The Freelancer's eyes were shaded from the glaring sun by her bright orange visor, and she whistled a little tune to herself as she drove, not seeming to be fazed every time she nearly capsized the vehicle. Sigma, whose image was being projected from the suit of armour, sat happily on the dashboard swinging her legs.

The most peculiar thing about the A.I.s appearance was her hands. For some reason she had fashioned them into two extremely long, claw-like fingers, and a normal sized, but still claw-like thumb. Apart from that, she looked almost human. She had a glowing lilac 'skin', dark purple hair that reached her shoulders, dark purple eyes, and she wore a plain, skin-tight jumpsuit that was a lilac-blue colour, and covered every inch of her below her neckline, even her clawed hands. Teamed with that were shin high purple boots, and a thick purple belt. Her face was gaunt, and looked quite stern, what with her thin, highly arched eyebrows and pursed lips.

"...Are we there yet?" she asked, inspecting her claws, a bored expression on her face.

"You know damn well we're not," Massachusetts replied, "You're the one running the sat-nav."

"True," Sigma said, not bothering to look up, "but I thought I could turn this into a conventional car ride."

"Conventional?" the Freelancer asked, confused.

"Are we there yet?" the A.I. replied, grinning slightly now. Massachusetts winced, and then gritted her teeth. She mustn't react; she mustn't let Sigma know she was getting pissed off-

"Are we there yet?"

_Calm. Think calm thoug-_

"Are we there yet?"

This time, Massachusetts couldn't help herself.

"No," she growled.

"Are we there yet?"

"You just asked me that! I said no!"

"Are we there yet?"

"For fuck's sake, no means NO!"

"Are we there yet?"

"Sigma, if I have to stop this Warthog, then so help me God...!" Massachusetts yelled as loud as she could. The A.I. said nothing, and there was a long silence.

"...Thank you."

"...Are we there yet?"

Massachusetts put her foot down so sharply on the Warthog brakes that it spun off in a wild circle, throwing dust everywhere, and for one second it balanced on only two wheels, before crashing back onto all fours again with a loud bang.

"...Love you?"

* * *

"I don't like the look of this, Massa," Sigma said inside her host's head. "The place is deserted. I'd at least expect to be greeted by either a sniper shot to the foot by the enemy, or a shout of 'get your ass over here' from our allies."

"Well, we'll just have to wait and see-" Massachusetts replied, before turning a corner and stopping dead. Facing her were hundreds of armed soldiers, a tank, and hell of a lot of guns. Sigma scanned their electronic ID's quickly.

"International Police!" she hissed, awed. "We must be wanted real bad!"

A tall, well groomed looking man stepped forward.

"Agent Massachusetts, I presume?" he said with an upper-class English accent. Massachusetts said nothing and the smile on his widened slightly.

"I'll take that as a yes. Now, you will come with us-"

"What makes you think I'll go with you?" Massachusetts interrupted rudely.

"Why, we have a tank of course."

"So?"

"So, if you refuse to cooperate, then this tank will blast you into nothing."

_Throw a plasma grenade, throw a plasma grenade, throw a plasma grenade-_

"Shut up, Sig!" she hissed quietly.

_Throw a plasma grenade, throw a plasma grenade, throw a plasma grenade-_

"Shut up!"

"Pardon me?"

"Nothing."

The man stared at her, and then shook his head, before signalling two of his soldiers to arrest her.

_You thinking what I'm thinking?_

"If you say plasma grenade one more time-"

_The tank, dumb shit!_

"Oh."

Massachusetts looked up at the tank, and then grinned.

"Ohhhh. Go for it."

_With pleasure._

Sigma jumped from the Freelancer into the tank's mainframe, just as the soldiers grabbed her. In a split second she had pulled out her shotgun, and filled his stomach with pellets. At the same time the barrel of the tank swung round, and shot a blast on the horde of men, sending them flying into the air. It was a beautiful sight to behold in Massachusetts' eyes; a tank turning against its own, charred bodies raining down in the sky, and the general chaos of a gunfight. She dove behind a set of boulders, taking pot shots with her battle rifle, and occasionally throwing grenades, whilst in the background Sigma was happily crunching people beneath her treads as she moved, and causing lots of soldiers to suddenly catch fire and become airborne.

It was a pity Massachusetts hadn't realised her basic tracking device was broken, due to plasma incident of the previous night, otherwise she might of noticed the curt man creeping up behind her. The tracker was standard issue; non-A.I. assisted, and had helped her out a lot of the time when Sigma had been doing what she was right now.

Massachusetts felt the gun press against the back of her helmet, and she froze.

"Drop the weapon," he ordered. "Drop it!"

She did as she was told.

"Good. Now, remove your helmet."

Again she obeyed. Next thing she knew, she was being dragged out onto the battle field. Sigma stopped shooting the soldiers immediately, and turned to face the one who had her partner instead. The fighting ceased, and everyone waited.

"Go on," he called out to her, "shoot me, and risk killing her instead. However, if you don't get back into her armour now, I'll blow her brains out. Your choice."

There was a long silence, and then suddenly the tank shut down.

_I'm sorry._

Massachusetts shook her head mutedly, and the man smiled.

* * *

"You do realise that that wasn't Vernon Larson who sent you that message about a boat, don't you?"

Massachusetts was sat in a simple white room, wearing dull, baggy grey clothes that hung loosely off her muscular frame. The curt man, who turned out to be called Richard Downing, had been questioning her for hours on end about her mercenary work, and the 'tank incident'.

"I don't know what message you speak of," she said dully, not bothering to play his games. He looked almost disappointed.

"I am Chief of the International Police! Do not waste my time!" he yelled, banging his fist on the table.

"And I am a seriously pissed off Freelancer, who you do _not_ want to fuck with, so stop wasting mine!" Massachusetts bellowed back, standing up abruptly and slamming the palm of her hand down exactly the way he did. Downing looked taken aback for a moment, and then a strange smile spread over his face.

"Please, sit down," he said, motioning to the chair. Massachusetts did what he asked, wondering why his mood had suddenly changed. He lowered himself onto the chair opposite, and then pulled a remote from his pocket, turning the security cameras off with the click of a button.

"Now, listen to me," he said with a low and calm voice, "I'm going to say this once, and only once. If you ever get out of this place alive, you will be wanted, but not by us. Should you ever get out, you will be paid double what you're earning now to double cross. Think about it."

With that he stood up, turned the cameras back on, and left the room.

Was he suggesting something to her? Paid double to double cross? Was he...?

"You have got to be shitting me," she whispered to herself, suddenly realising what he meant.

He was offering her a job.

Working for the Chief of the International Police to assassinate her boss?

Massachusetts activated the seemingly innocent wristband on her arm, sending out a signal for Sigma, who had been separated from her, to find.

_Sounds like fun_, she thought, smirking to herself.


	3. Escape, Assassination, and Freelancer

**Escape, Assassination, and Freelancer Things.**

Massachusetts lay on the floor, her legs spread wide, a soldier kneeling painfully on her spine, and a shotgun pressed hard into the back of her neck. She wondered how the day's events had taken such an unexpected turn. One minute she was sat in the little questioning room, waiting for Sigma to pick up her wristband signal, the next a guard walked in and turned his back to her. So, of course, she swiftly broke his neck, and then stole his guns. She left the body armour. It was a flimsy piece of shit anyway, compared to her Spartan armour. Within minutes she was out on the white narrow corridor, shooting the hell out of everything that moved, and giving the walls a new red paint job.

She got as far as three corridors from where she started from, before being overwhelmed by infantry, forcing her to back into a store cupboard. Nobody could get near her without a bullet to the head, so a gas canister was thrown in, and then, whilst she was distracted with her coughing fit, someone shot her down with a tranquiliser dart. Apparently one of the higher ranking officers had been insistent on her been caught alive, no matter what the cost. They seemed to think she was going to tell them who all her employers had been.

Well, she might have done, had they asked nicely enough.

And, of course, if the price had been right.

When Massachusetts had awoken, she found herself in the uncomfortable position she was in now. It was quite unnecessary really. What did they think she was; a psycho killer? The guard noticed her stirring, showing that she was awake, and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her head up sharply.

"You killed twenty of our men, and injured another five, you bitch!" he hissed, his face twisted in fury.

_My kill injury ratio was twenty to five? Awesome,_ she thought happily to herself. The man who was kneeling on her saw her grinning, and so slammed her face onto the floor in retaliation, before pulling her neck back again. Massachusetts scowled, her forehead and nose throbbing, and blood trickling freely from her nostrils.

She didn't deserve that.

After being sat on for several hours, Massachusetts was eventually dragged to a high security cell, surrounded by many armed officers as they went. As they pushed her in, they noticed her wrist band, and demanded she take it off.

"It has sentimental value to me," she said, trying to pull away as one of the guards took hold of her, "and if you persist to try to take it from me, I'll break you arm."

"It's boiling hot! There must be some sort of mechanism in it to make it that temperature," he retorted.

"I've had my arms underneath me for god knows how long! Of course it's going to be heated! Body temperature _spreads_ you know!"

There was an awkward silence, and another soldier called out to his comrade.

­"Leave it, Gav. What harm can a little wristband do?"

Gav paused, and then nodded slowly, letting go of the Freelancer, and leaving the cell, locking it behind him. Massachusetts waited until they had all left, and their footsteps had faded away, before ripping the wristband of in agony. The places where the wristband had touched her skin were blistered, as it had overheated immensely and had burnt her. She gritted her teeth, and then looked at the band. Sigma hadn't followed the signal, which was strange, so perhaps she was unable to track it, though that would be highly unlikely.

They wouldn't... destroy her... would they?

Massachusetts had to get the hell out of this place. Now.

* * *

Sigma waited patiently inside the armour as the guards carried it with difficulty through the complex. They had taken the long route, so as to avoid any places where she could jump from the suit and into their mainframe. They'd also put a device on the suit, which prevented Sigma from straying more than a metre away from her source. For over half an hour they walked, and eventually the soldiers began to get disgruntled.

"Let's take a shortcut," one whispered to the other, pulling a face as water from an old leaky pipe above them dripped onto his head.

"But what about the A.I.? It could escape," his partner replied.

"Nah, it won't. It's got the restriction on it. Come on, if we go this way, we can get there in about ten minutes, and there's no computer shit for it to go into anyway."

There was a pause, and then the guard nodded.

"Good point. Let's go."

The two men made a swift turn to the left, and lo and behold, there stood a sparking generator! They didn't seem to think it a risk, which was good for Sigma. Now, all she had to do was break the restrictor around her long enough to leave an energy trace on the generator. And she had the perfect idea. In an instant she shot out a holographic projection of herself, before morphing into the form Omega had chosen. The men that were carrying her turned to the source of the bright light, and then let out a yell of horror as the purple creature of nightmares loomed over them menacingly. The armour fell to the floor with a clunk, jolting the restrictor, cutting its power for a second. That was all the time Sigma needed, and faster than a person could think, she left a trace of herself on the generator's system, before the restrictor flickered back on and dragged her back into the suit.

The soldiers approached her warily, and she laughed, allowing herself to be heard by them. They scowled, and then dragged the armour up, continuing on their way. In an attempt to anger them further, Sigma sent out a small holographic projection of her normal self in front of them.

"Aww," she cooed sweetly, "did the little A.I. girl scare you big, bad soldiers?"

"Turn the restrictor up," the taller of the two growled. His partner nodded, and touched the device. Sigma suddenly detected a pulling pressure on herself, before being snatched deep into the A.I. slot she was sourced from and forcefully held there.

The rest of the trip went without event, but that wasn't surprising to Sigma, now that she was contained. She wondered why they hadn't done it in the first place, but her questioned was quickly answered.

"Commander Brandes, we have the A.I."

"Good. Place the armour in the extraction mechanism, and then take guard outside," the Commander ordered. The soldiers nodded, and then, with difficulty, loaded the Spartan armour onto a glowing platform. The Commander waved them away, before checking a database on his computer and then activated the headset he was wearing.

"Sir? The A.I. is in our possession, and scans show that it hasn't corrupted our system."

"Good, Joseph." Downing's voice could be faintly heard crackling from the headset. "Now extract it. I'll reroute power to your sector to give you substantial energy supply needed."

A large panel suddenly flashed green, and Brandes smiled, before returning to his computer interface. Then he scowled.

"Idiots put the restrictor on full, even though I told them not to! Don't they realise just how much it costs us?" he muttered to himself, shaking his head irritably. The restrictor disappeared around Sigma, but as she went to jump into Brandes' console, she was ripped out of the suit's A.I. slot. She was sure, that if she could actually feel pain, she would be in agony. Sigma's thought were cut short when she found herself in a strange little cylinder on a completely different platform.

Then the pressure started again, and everything began to fade to black.

"A.I. has been transferred and put into hibernation," Brandes said. Sigma could feel the darkness closing in around her. If she could just reroute _all_ of the power to this room, the rest of the complex would shut down, allowing Massa some freedom, and the consoles here would overload, damaging them. It wouldn't release her from her capsule though, as it was self powered. Massa would have to figure that one out herself. As quick as a few nanoseconds, she activated the trace of herself she had left on the generator, and moved it through the system, directing it to the mainframe, whilst at the same time presetting a list of instructions for it to follow once she was completely contained. As the trace hit its destination, the cylinder beeped, and Sigma's code was shut down.

The Freelancer would be on her own for now.

* * *

Massachusetts stared dully at the ceiling, bored out of her mind. The wristband blinked every few minutes in the background, a sign that Sigma wasn't there. She couldn't start her mad, psychotic dash for freedom until she had her A.I. back. It came as a great shock to her when the lights all around her cut out, and the electronic metal and glass doors loosened.

_Nice one, Sig_, she thought, sticking her wristwatch in her pocket, and then pushing the now inactive door open as much as she could manage, before creeping off down the corridor. Ten minutes later, Massachusetts found she was lost.

"Great," she muttered grumpily to herself, before running smack into a glass door, which she had missed in the gloom.

"What was that?" a guard said loudly to his friend on the opposite side of the door. He opened it, swinging it into Massachusetts face, knocking her over with a loud bang.

"Fucking idiot!" she yelled, kicking it back at him so that the edge of the door hit his groin with a dull thud. His eyes widened, and he keeled over backwards, cracking his head on the tiles. The Freelancer rubbed her nose irritably, bunching up the sleeve of her shirt to stem the blood pouring out.

"Frank?"

The second guard came to inspect the noise, unable to see in the dark. In one swift movement, Massachusetts dove forwards and delivered a swift right hook to his face, causing him to stagger. A jumping kick to the stomach followed, but by then the guard had prepared himself. He caught her leg, and twisted it so that she fell over, before pointing his gun. The Freelancer flicked her legs at the back of his knees, and he toppled over, accidently firing at the ceiling in surprise. Massachusetts then tried to wrestle the gun off him, forcing her knee into his elbow, breaking it. He screamed in agony, and snatched it off her, hitting her in the face, but then losing his grip so that it clattered away down the corridor just out of reach.

The guard grabbed the front of her shirt and threw her backwards next to his fallen comrade, before staggering up blindly and groping about for the gun. Massachusetts scrabbled about on the man on the floor next to her, searching for _his_ gun, but it wasn't there. Instead, she only found a combat knife.

_That'll do._

Quickly she sprinted down the corridor, tackled the soldier just as he picked up his gun, and then slit his throat. He made slight pathetic noises, wriggling weakly under her weight as the blood gushed out all over the Freelancer's lap. Eventually he lay still, and she got up. The other guard groaned in the background, coming out of his unconscious stupor. He would have to be dealt with. Massachusetts strode over, the knife still in hand, and watched with a slight smile as he tried to get away. She recognised him as the one who had slammed her face into the floor.

"Remember me?" she hissed, grabbing his hair the way he had hers, snapping his neck back. He stared groggily at her, a glint of fear in his eyes.

"Thought so," she smirked and then drove his face into tiles.

_Once._

_Twice._

_Three times._

The Freelancer held his head up again, paused for a moment and the dragged the knife across his neck the same way she had to his friend, before dropping him carelessly. Then she noticed something else on his belt. She plucked it off, and took a good long look at it. It was a tracker, and it pinpointed all unidentified energy sources in the complex. Just north of her was an energy that looked exactly like Sigma's.

Then she grinned.

* * *

Sigma felt trapped. Her trackers were blocked, her files inaccessible, and the coding that gave her 'sight' scrambled. From being one of the most powerful pieces of equipment in the government, and then suddenly becoming… well, nothing.

She wished Massa would hurry up.

The pressure all around her suddenly disappeared, the rush of her coding being available again stunned her, and all she could do for a moment is clutch at her head as her files flew about wildly. Then her sight focused, and she saw the destruction her actions had caused. The console room was in flames, most of the computers were in bits, and Commander Brandes was dead, the upper half of his body incinerated. Then she noticed the person holding her opened capsule.

"Welcome back," Massachusetts smiled, her face covered in blood.

* * *

The Freelancer drove the stolen prototype Mongoose full speed through the complex, humming happily to herself as bullets flew over her head and clanged off her armour, not even flinching as soldiers hit and bounced off the windscreen.

"That's the seventeenth person you've mowed down in the space of ten minutes," Sigma said as another poor soul found the Mongoose running him over at full pelt. "One would think you are aiming for these people on purpose."

"What makes you think that?" Massachusetts replied cheerily, swerving deliberately towards a fleeing person and knocking him flying. Sigma didn't reply, but instead calculated an escape route.

"Turn left at the next junction. It leads straight to a shuttle car which will take us back to the bay we left our Warthog at."

Massachusetts nodded, and turned sharply, splattering a guard against the wall as she went. They drove straight over half an hour, while pot shots were fired at them, before reaching the shuttle cars. Abandoning the vehicle, the Freelancer pulled out her shotgun, blasting anyone who came within range as they made a dash for the shuttle. Sigma even went so far as to overload any electrical equipment that wasn't necessary for the operation of the cars, so that whoever was unfortunate enough to be stood close by was killed instantly.

"Move, fucker!" she yelled, breaking the neck of the guard who tried to block their way, and then tossing him aside like a rag doll. Once inside the shuttle, Sigma sealed the doors behind them, and activated the engines. The car shot off, and Massachusetts relaxed.

"How the fuck," she exclaimed, "did we get out of that mess?"

* * *

It was nice to be back home, and so Massachusetts did what she always did; dumped her armour in a pile, staining the carpet with grime and blood. Slowly she trudged into the bathroom, and filled the bathtub with hot, steaming water, before stripping, and then sinking into it wearily.

"You have a message, by the way," Sigma said, flitting through the home system and appearing beside her host.

"Fuck off," she replied bluntly, not even bothering to open her eyes. Sigma didn't seem to mind.

"It's from Downing. It seems he has a job for you."

"Then doubly fuck off."

"Wow… he wants us to assassinate Lar-"

"I know. He told me when him and his tosser brigade were questioning me."

"Look, just listen to the damn thing so that I can throw it away and then I can say 'I told you so' when you realise what an opportunity you've missed."

"Fine, fine! Can I get a moment of peace after that?!"

"Shut up and listen."

The voice message played.

"_So, Massachusetts, you escaped. I'm impressed. This proves you are competent. Now I am here to make you an offer, an offer I hope you will consider seriously. I am known as Richard Downing to the authorities, to my government, to the police that I am head of. That is a lie. I am, in fact, the head of one of the largest illegal weapon and drug dealing syndicates in the world. Larson is my rival, and has been a thorn in my side for too long. Being such a high figure of good in society has allowed myself to conduct business without hitch. Usually I would leave my competitors alone – a bit of healthy competition adds some spice to life – but Larson is different. He has discovered who I am, and now is trying to blackmail me out of the game. This is unacceptable, and I think he needs to be taught a lesson. Permanently._

_So I leave the choice with you. Help me, and you will be paid well. However, if you refuse, I will get someone else to do it, and you will be out of a job. You would never hear from me again. All details covering expenses and where to find me are on a separate file included in this request. Choose wisely._

_One final thing. Do not try to turn me in. This message is corrupted, and comes from an unworthy source, so cannot be used as evidence._

_Farewell."_

"How much is he offering?" Massachusetts asked, picking up a bar of soap and rubbing it between her hands. Sigma looked at the file, and then gasped, a look of shock on her face.

"What is it?" the Freelancer said. Sigma told her, and Massachusetts dropped the soap back into the water with a plunk, her eyes widening. Then she sat up abruptly.

"Get my armour cleaned and repaired, and the damaged equipment replaced. Make sure all weapons are fully loaded, and the Warthog usable. I'll get some rest, and then we go to see Mr Downing."

"So we're not going to assassinate Larson immediately? When did we _discuss_?"

"Well, he might want it done in a specific method."

"You know no matter what he tells you, you'll just do it your own way."

"True. I was thinking of beating him to death with his own skull."

"…Beating him to death with his own skull? That's impossible."

"Agent Texas pulled it off."

"But-"

"It's a Freelancer thing. You wouldn't understand."


	4. Warthogs, Weaponry, and Transvestites

**Warthogs, Weaponry, and Transvestites.**

Massachusetts crashed the Warthog up the dirt track, the radio blaring full blast, ignoring Sigma's sulky look as she nodded her head to the music.

"_Love me or hate me, it's still an obsession-"_

"Do we have to listen to this crap?" Sigma grumbled, tapping her fingers irritably.

"Yes, I do, and it's my Warthog, so it's my music," Massachusetts replied, before singing along loudly with the song.

"_Love me or hate; that is the question. If you love me then - thank you! If you hate me then - fuck you!"_

"At the moment, I hate you," the A.I. muttered darkly.

"Then fuck you!" her host said cheerily. Sigma glared, and the music suddenly cut out.

"Whaddayadoin'?!" Massachusetts cried, reaching to turn the music player back on. The second it flickered to life, it went off again.

"I'm sick of this crap! We've been listening to it for two. Goddamn. _Hours_."

"...So?"

"So? _So?!_ I want to listen to something that I like!"

"Since when did A.I.s have music tastes?"

"Since when was it clever to drive straight towards a rock?"

"What?"

"Look up."

The Freelancer did, and swore loudly; swerving out of the way of a massive boulder they had been heading directly for at top speed, missing it by an inch and knocking the wing mirror off in the process.

"Shit! Why didn't you tell me?" Massachusetts yelled, stopping the vehicle to get out and inspect the damage.

"I did," Sigma replied, shrugging.

"Yeah, with about two seconds to spare! I could have been killed!"

"I assumed correctly that you'd have a fast reaction. And anyway, you've never cared about being killed before."

"Well usually in those moments of my short, yet adventurous life, I have had a shotgun in my hands," Massachusetts replied glaring. Then she stared as the engine came to life.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm driving, so I get to pick the music."

And with that, the Warthog trundled away, leaving Massachusetts running and cursing after it not far behind.

* * *

Sigma had to admit, she was impressed. The human managed to catch up to the Warthog when, half an hour later, it hit a particularly muddy patch of land. She had vaulted the roof in her heavy armour, and then swung through the window and took control of the wheel. Of course, now her Freelancer friend was in an extremely foul mood, and the conversation had disappeared all together.

"So, how long 'til we get there?" Sigma tested.

"Fuck off," Massachusetts replied bluntly. Another ten minutes went by, so Sigma tried again.

"Can I listen to some music?"

"Fuck off."

"Aw, come on, Massa! It's been nearly an hour! How long are you going to stay in a mood for?"

"For as long as I want."

"Well then, I'll just bug you until you let me choose the mus-"

"I can't be bothered with arguments, Sig. Just do it."

Sigma grinned, happy that she had won, and flicked through until she found a tune she knew would irritate the life out of Massachusetts.

"_How'd you do, I see you've met my-"_

The Freelancer stared.

"_-Faithful handyman! He's just a little brought down, because when you knocked he thought you were the Candyman."_

"What-" Massachusetts began.

"_Don't get strung out by the way I look, don't judge a book by its cover."_

"-The-"

"_I'm not much of a man by the light of day, but by night I'm one hell of a lover!"_

"-Fuck."

Sigma giggled, and then turned it right up so that the seats of the Warthog vibrated to the bass of the music.

"_I'm just a sweet Transvestite from Transsexual, Transylvania!"_

Massachusetts leant forward and turned the music player off whilst trying to keep an eye on the road they had just come onto. People in their ordinary cars gawped at the militarised Warthog, with the intimidating Spartan warrior sat at the seat, fiddling about with what looked like a radio. Suddenly it came back on again, and the Spartan jumped in shock before turning it back off again. The song was something about a sweet transvestite, and this only caused the people to stare more as the soldier became more and more agitated as the device flickered on and off.

"Sig," Massachusetts cried, her voice sounding quite dangerous, "if you turn that on one more time, then I'll-"

"_I'm just a sweet Transvestite-"_

The Freelancer let out a cry of rage and plunged her armoured fist into the music player, ripping the entire thing out and throwing it over her shoulder so that it hit the windscreen of the car behind, cracking it. The said car swerved violently in surprise and crashed in several others, blocking the motorway and causing a massive pileup. Massachusetts ignored this and simply carried on driving.

"You drive me insane!" she yelled, while Sigma smirked in response.

"I'm about to drive you even more insane," the A.I. replied happily. Massachusetts looked at her.

"What?" she asked, just as Sigma clicked her fingers. The new and secretly added music player constructed in Massachusetts' suit sprung to life, and began to blare.

"_I'm just a sweet Transvestite from Transsexual, Transylvania!"_

Massachusetts screamed in fury.

* * *

"I'm glad to see you considered my offer," Downing said, his English accented voice in a clear but pleasant tone, "so I'll assume it is down to business."

The Freelancer nodded, but then shook her head when he offered for her to sit down.

"I weigh nearly a thousand pounds. I'll break any chair you offer me."

"Ah, well, I suppose standing is just as good. Now, we have much to talk about-"

"Payment first," Massachusetts cut in, folding her arms, "or no deal."

"Right, well, you saw the price that I set, and I-"

"Not enough."

"Excuse me?"

"Massa, what are you on about?" Sigma whispered inside her head. Massachusetts ignored the A.I. and continued.

"Your men saw my face. I was recorded on camera. People know what I look like, and I am not happy. I want those videos destroyed, I want all who saw me taken care of, memory wipe them or something, and I want all records of me ever being there being removed."

"But of course. Consider the evidence already gone. I'll also send all those who were involved or even took note of you in a glance on a particularly risky mission. They _won't_ return."

"And I thought we were cold," Sigma said. "He's executing his own men!"

"Deal," the Freelancer replied. "Now, as for Larson, any method of death that you favour? I can't promise it'll happen, but I'll try to keep it in mind."

"Actually, I'd like you to try the most painful thing you can think of, all the while letting him know it was I who ordered the hit. I'll leave it to your imagination though. I think we both know you could easily come up with something better than me," Downing replied with a wicked smile. "Also, he has something that I want... a weapon the military obtained from the Covenant, and that he stole from them. It is a sword of some sorts; you'll know when you see it. Get it for me, and I'll add extra to the tab."

Massachusetts was speechless. He was offering _more_?

"I'll take that as a yes. Now, before you go, I have something for you as thanks, because I believe you won't fail."

Downing stood up, and went to an electronic safe on the wall. He typed a code in, and it bleeped in confirmation. The door swung open slowly, and with great care, her employer took out what looked like a long, black hammer with a white head. Blue lights were dotted about on the top, and a strange blue aura was emitting from it, giving off a haunting blue glow.

"This," he said, holding it awkwardly, but looking quite pleased with himself at the same time, "is another weapon obtained by the military from the Covenant, but stolen. By me, actually. I've no idea what the alien scum call it in their mother tongue, but I have simply named it the 'Gravity Hammer'. Please, follow me."

Massachusetts stared at strange object in his hands as he led them through the mansion to a large metal encased room with many dents in the floor and walls. Downing turned to her, and then handed her the Gravity Hammer.

"Be careful," he said seriously. "It's the most dangerous Covenant weapon humanity has ever acquired."

Massachusetts took it off him, and was surprised to find it was incredibly light. She went to swing it round, but Downing stopped her.

"Perhaps I should explain the nature of this hammer before you start experimenting with it. When you swing it, it releases a charge of compressed energy which causes the gravity levels directly around the body to alter and change. Anyone hit with it is either instantly crushed or semi-crushed, and then flung halfway across the room. Unfortunately, the user is not immune either. Improper or careless use causes the holder to be hit with a lesser recoil, which has devastating results."

"What do you mean?" Massachusetts asked cautiously.

"Well, for example, one of my soldiers mastered the hammer, and could use it perfectly. But then he got cocky, and so used it stupidly. The hammer crushed the bones in his arms into dust, and he died shortly afterwards from internal bleeding. A couple of my men who hadn't mastered the hammer had at least over half of their bodies completely pulverised. Another had his spine shattered into nothing."

Downing pressed a button on the wall, and a man dropped from a hole in the ceiling, hitting the floor and then jumping up, terrified. He spotted the hammer in Massachusetts arms, and began to scream with terror.

"Oh god, not that, not that! Please, I'm sorry, I'll never do again, I promise, just let me go-!"

Downing ignored the pleading man.

"This person is one of my ex-security guards, caught stealing from one of my many safes. He will be punished of course, and I give you the opportunity to not only do that, but to test out the hammer as well."

He then stood right back, as far as he could go, and said nothing more. It was the Freelancer's show now.

"I don't think this is safe," Massachusetts whispered to Sigma, glancing down at the powerful object in her hands. Sigma snorted.

"You've got top of the range Spartan armour, and defence technology that is used in Covenant Elites' shields! If anything, that hammer should be scared of you, not the other way round!"

"Scared?" she replied, her pride wounded. "Scared?! I'll show you scared!"

She strode forward, raising the hammer high.

"Wait," Sigma said suddenly. "I've just done some calculations. If you hit like that the energy will rebound on you. Try it like this."

Sigma brought up a diagram showing the best way of using the hammer on Massachusetts' visor. The Freelancer studied it for a second, and then nodded.

"I think I've got it," she replied, and altered her stance and hold. Then she ran at her victim. The man barely had time to cry out when the hammer made connection with his head. What happened next would stick in Massachusetts' mind forever.

The blue aura suddenly expanded with a loud noise, and the ex-guard's skull buckled and crumpled into a pinpoint in less than a second without even breaking the skin. His neck, shoulders, and torso followed in the same way, but to a lesser extreme the further away each body part went from the point of impact. The now lifeless body shot across the room, and hit the wall with speed. Because the dead man's bone structure had been completely obliterated, and the body was now little more than jelly held together with skin, he exploded like a water balloon upon impact, and his innards decorated the majority of the wall, ceiling, and floor in a bloody and gory pattern.

Massachusetts had jumped when she had swung, just as Sigma had instructed, which was, as it turned out, incredibly lucky. In her horror of what she had just done to the person Downing had given to her as practise, she dropped the hammer without realising it. It wasn't until a second later, when Sigma yelled out to her at her mistake, did she notice, but it was already too late. It hit the floor, and Massachusetts felt an invisible force hit her in full, flinging her across the room so that she was slammed into the opposite wall. Had she not jumped, she would have been smeared along the floor just like the ex-security guard, Spartan armour or none. Instead she was merely knocked unconscious. Then the next thing she heard was Sigma wailing irritatingly down her ear.

"Massa? Hey, Massa, are you awake yet? Maaassssaaaa! Don't make me play 'Sweet Transvestite' again."

Massachusetts groaned, and lifted a hand to her helmet.

"Shut up, Sig, my head is killing me," she mumbled, slowly sitting up. Downing approached her, a concerned look on his face.

"Are you alright? Your A.I. insisted that all your computerised statistics checked out fine, and moving you wouldn't help. Still, you've been out for ten minutes."

"Sig knows what's best," Massachusetts replied, before dragging herself up. She spotted the Gravity Hammer in the corner, and so picked it up with ease.

"You still want it?" Downing asked, clearly surprised. Massachusetts nodded, and then shouldered the hammer.

"It's powerful. Let's leave it at that."

"I must say, my dear woman, I have never met someone as skilled nor as persistent as you are."

Massachusetts smiled behind her visor at the compliment, and said her thanks. This was too much for Sigma, and she decided to change the mood.

"_I'm just a sweet Transvestite..."_

* * *

Massachusetts whistled happily to herself in time with the music, while Sigma drew pictures in the projection beam with her finger. They had finally agreed to a set of songs they both liked, and so had made a playlist in the suit. It was quite pleasant not bickering like little children while they drove. The landscape had changed from a city background to a dry, deserted place with little vegetation. Suddenly a loud bang sounded from behind them.

"What was that?" Massachusetts said to Sigma, not looking behind her, but allowing her A.I. to scan the area instead.

"We've got a vehicle coming in fast, and it seems to be firing missiles of some sort at us," Sigma said. There was a pause, and then her voice became panicked. "Oh crap, another one heading straight for us! Swerve, Massa, swer-"

She was cut off as the explosive hit them at the rear, and the Warthog flipped over completely, sending Massachusetts soaring through the air, landing on the ground with a dull thud. The thing chasing them stopped, and the low rumble of its transport died down as it got off and began to walk towards them. Massachusetts groaned, and then pulled herself up, before looking at her opponent. She gawped at them.

Another Freelancer?

The Spartan approaching her had white armour, and a helmet with a visor that covered the whole face. She recognised it as the E.V.A. helmet.

"Why the fuck were you shooting at me?" she yelled, pulling out the Gravity Hammer and holding it aloft. The Spartan said nothing, but held up its weapon and pointed it at her.

"That's a Brute shot, with explosive ammunition. Be careful," Sigma whispered.

"I never would have guessed," Massachusetts said sarcastically, indicating towards the upside-down Warthog. The stranger pulled the trigger, and a blast shot out from their weapon. Faster than thought, she struck out with the Gravity Hammer, and watched with amazement as the fiery ball heading towards her was suddenly reflected back at the attacker. It jumped back, and then prowled around her warily, not wanting to come close while she had the hammer.

"Massa, we have to get out of here now!" Sigma said suddenly.

"No way! The asshole attacked me, so now I'm gonna kill him!" Massachusetts protested.

"We have to leave now! For god's sake Massa, if you only listen to me once in your life, please let it be now! Take their Mongoose and go! Go!" Sigma screamed, her tone rising in panic. The Freelancer became worried. What could get Sigma so... scared?

"Fine!" she yelled, pretending to be annoyed, and hit their capsized Warthog as hard as she could with the hammer towards the person opposite them. The Warthog missed them by mere inches as the Spartan dove out of the way, and exploded as it hit the ground. Massachusetts had already boarded her enemy's Mongoose at this point, and by the time the stranger realised what was going on, she had drove away, leaving them and the mashed up Warthog behind.

The Freelancer and her A.I. rode in silence for over twenty minutes, before one of them decided to speak.

"Sig," Massachusetts said cautiously, "what the hell happened back there? Why did you freak out so much?"

"I read the code of that... thing. Its tag came up as 'META'," Sigma replied quietly. Massachusetts blanched.

"The Meta?" she whispered, paling behind her visor. She had heard a rumour about the Meta a few years ago, which was why her home was so secret and fortified.

"Yes, the Meta. Now do you see why I panicked? It doesn't matter how 'good' we think we are, Freelancers greater than us have fallen prey to that creature. They were found dead, their armour upgrades gone, their A.I.s ...stolen."

"You don't have to repeat the whole damn story to me," Massachusetts snapped, clearly shaken. "I know it already."

Both of them had realised just how close they had come to separation, and it could happen again very soon. The Meta would be on their tail now.

Suddenly a building began to materialise on the horizon. It looked deserted.

"What's that?" Sigma asked. Massachusetts shrugged.

"I don't know, but we're gonna go check it out."


	5. AI LOG – REPORT TWO – MASSACHUSETTS

**A.I. LOG – REPORT TWO – MASSACHUSETTS**

This is Agent Massachusetts recording Freelancer Report One.

Sigma made me do this. She thinks it's important to keep a record of ourselves for some reason; god knows why. I'm only doing this to shut her up; I'll probably never do it again. This'll be filed alongside her A.I. logs, and it'll be forgotten; but whatever. I need to think of something to say.

Oh, wait, I know. I'll talk about the past; everybody likes past. Erm…

I remember when we first started out in the Spartan training facility. The best were picked out for the Freelancer program after a series of gruelling tests; the rest were sent straight into the Covenant war in hopes that something could be done. The governments of the world reckon the Covenant will find Earth soon. Bullshit, in my opinion; we're too well hidden, and anyway, what's on Earth that the Covenant could possibly want? It's not like we have anything that could be used to complete their 'Holy Journey'. Hah! That's a pile of crap too.

Anyway, once I had been picked for the Freelancer program, because I'm awesome like that, we had a big meeting on 'why we were picked'. Well, it's because we kicked ass, and we all knew it, but Command felt the need to reinstate that in more formal terms. They waffled on for _two hours_, in which I spent most of it looking at the Chairman's bald head thinking 'God, it's bright'.

Well, it was. Seriously, he must polish and wax it every night before he goes to bed.

But anyway, after that we were sent to our rooms. As new Freelancers, we had to _share_ rooms, and at first I was pissed. We were singlehandedly picked out by the government, yet we had to _share_? Of course, I'm glad now that they did that, because I met someone who would become my best friend over the years.

I met Agent Texas.

At first we didn't speak. It was like a sort of 'you don't bug me, and I don't rip your face off' relationship with her. She was quiet, and sinister looking and she rarely smiled, except when she inflicted pain. She enjoyed hurting others. It was the cruel side of her that drew me to her and made me admire her. I didn't like it at first, and used to snap at her methods, but soon I noticed it; long before anyone else did. She got results.

And by god, they were spectacular results.

Call me arrogant, but I am a badass; you can't deny it. Tex though… hell, she is _hardcore_. I am nothing compared to Tex, but I can sure put up a fight. So, when we were stuck in the same room together for years on end, only two things could happen. Either the small space we were confined to would not be able to hold the combined power of our superiority, and all hell would break loose, or we would join forces. The latter occurred, and it was fucking magnificent.

Cue a trip down memory lane. We were in the dining room, in our casual clothes, queuing up for the slop that they call food – what a way to feed the government's best – when a new Freelancer started hitting on Tex. Naturally, she said nothing, but gave him a stare that would cause most people to shit one and run for the hills. Of course, as I said before, he was new, and so knew nothing of Tex's fearsome reputation. He carried on, and so I leant across and told him if he wanted to lose his manhood for good, he was well on his way. Tex told me to 'shut up, I can handle myself'. I responded with an obscene gesture, and…

Well, I won't go into details, but put it this way, the canteen got trashed.

Actually, that's boring; I will go into the details.

Tex picked up her food tray, and smashed it over my head, before slamming across my face, sending me sprawling. New Boy tried to pull the tray away from her, so she hit him with that too. He then retaliated by punching her, and so I turned on him, claiming that 'a guy shouldn't hit a girl'. Others joined in, and a mini riot broke out, which was only stopped when one of the head honchos stormed in and screamed until we all shut up.

I don't like being told to be quiet, so when he turned to leave, I nailed him in the back of the head with an orange.

He didn't appreciate that much, and, because Tex had burst out laughing at my glorious moment of rebellion, we were both forcefully sent to the 'detention' area. When we got there, we were made to clean the entire room, which was filthy, with a rag and several bucket of water.

Several hours later, once we'd finished, we sat back on our sparkling handiwork, and breathed a sigh of relief. I then produced a packed of cigarettes.

"Where did you get those from?" Tex asked me, her eyes widening as I lit one and took a long drag. I shrugged, and told her how I'd smuggled them through customs. Freelancers weren't allowed to smoke, as it was bad for our health. Not that I gave a shit. I wanted to smoke, so I sure as hell would. I told her as much, and she grinned. I stared at her. I'd _never_ seen her smile before, and in my shock, somehow found myself offering her one. Then, right in the middle of our 'smoke-a-fag' party, the guy I'd assaulted with the orange came in to see how we were doing. My smokes were confiscated, and I was given extra duties as punishment.

After that I named my commander 'Dickhead'.

Later that night, when I returned to my room, I found Tex sat on her bed waiting for me.

"Catch," she said, and tossed me my cigs. It turns out New Boy was an expert of hacking and lock picking, and had broke into Dickhead's office and got them back for me. Tex had to...'persuade' him to do so though, but whenever I needed to get something that had been taken from me, I always went to him from that point onwards.

"You made me laugh today," Tex said suddenly. "That's a hard thing to do."

There was a long pause before she spoke again.

"My name's Allison, but you can call me Ali."

At that point we hadn't received our Freelancer Agent names, like Texas or Massachusetts, so I told her my real name. She smiled again, and I smirked.

"Twice in one day? Don't overdo it, Ali."

And that's when our friendship began.

I wasn't so sadistic when I first signed up for the army. I always felt bad about killing, and originally signed up for medical and technician jobs. Even as a Freelancer, I was only going to be advanced technical support. Tex changed all that. She snorted at my career choices, and within days dragged me along to a shooting range. She pressed a gun into my hand, and ordered me to shoot the targets. Now, as a soldier, I already knew how to use a gun, but only basic Spartan training, not the advanced Freelancer variety that Tex was already halfway through learning.

So I had a go, and strangely enough, I found I... enjoyed it. It was so different from the boring Basic I had to endure in the army, and I discovered that I was good at it. So good, that Command came to view me on Tex's say so, and then asked me to reconsider into becoming a pure fighting Freelancer, instead of half technician, half fighter. I agreed, and I've never looked back since.

New Boy helped me out quite a few times as well. He got me cigarettes, alcohol; anything I wanted. Eventually I gave them all up for the sake of my training, but until that point I was dependent on him. He never wanted to be a pure fighting Freelancer though; more of a semi-hacker, semi-fighter. I became friends with him after a while, and eventually even Tex warmed up to him. He was funny, smart, witty, and not bad looking. He-

Sorry. Some things I don't like to remember. New Boy is one of them. I never refer to him as his Agent name any more because...

I think a subject switch is in order.

Once I changed my career prospects, I did a lot more field work. The exercises were more gruelling, and we often went on government missions as training. One sticks in my mind. It's the day I began to become a brutal, vicious bitch. We went to do an international drugs raid, and we took out the dealers no problem. One person got injured, but nothing serious. However, beneath their headquarters was where they kept at least fifty slaves. Tex and I found them while the other Freelancers-to-be were dragging the dealers out by force. She went to inspect one, and then jumped back as he lashed out at her with an old blunt knife. In an instant she opened fire on him, and he screamed in agony as he fell to the floor, writhing.

"What the hell, Ali?" I yelled, and she shrugged.

"He attacked me," she replied simply, and then turned to another slave, who was shaking with fear. "Are you going to attack me too?"

"N-no," the slave girl replied. One of the other slaves took it as a 'distraction', and jumped on me. Within moments all the other slaves had joined in, attacking with whatever they could get their hands on. I think they had been treated so badly by their masters that everyone became an enemy. Tex didn't care. She massacred the lot of them, and I, in a state of panic, joined in. When we had finished our bloodbath, I nearly dropped my gun in shock, and stared at the death I had caused.

"Good job," Tex said to me, before sauntering off back upstairs, leaving me alone in the darkness.

Those actions haunted me for a long time, but after a while, after several missions with Tex, I became accustomed to it. You could even say I became as cold and heartless as her.

Well, not quite.

The way she treated Church, I don't think I could ever do. He loved her, and all she ever did was cheat on him and steal his money. He even joined the army just so he could be with her, but he didn't make the cut for the Freelancer program. He was assigned to Blood Gulch as part of the Sim. program, and died a few years later. I remember when I first started out as a mercenary I had to pass though Blood Gulch to get to another area on the other side where a drugs package was hidden. There was a malfunctioning tank going rampant in the middle of the canyon, and it turned on Church, before firing its main cannon at him. Turns out it was his own team member that killed him. How do I know this? I heard another of his team mates shout:

"You shot Church, you team killing Fucktard!"

Tex might have been a bitch to Church some time, but I know she cared. If and when she finds out...

Well, put it this way, I don't think she'll be happy. But I haven't seen her in some time; Omega could have changed her so much by then that she wouldn't give a damn either way.

I miss the good old days, before the A.I. implantation. If it wasn't for the fact I had Sigma, I'd almost wish neither me nor Tex got the damn A.I.s in the first place. But we did, and Tex was never the same again. She abandoned Church for good; she became reclusive, ignoring me and New Boy. When New Boy and I finally became a couple, after so many years... She stopped talking to us as much. I think she felt excluded, although I'm certain her A.I. twisted the truth; told her that we were her enemy. When I finally got my Agent name and A.I., and I became Massachusetts and Sigma; she laughed and told me I was worthless; that I was nothing compared to her. Maybe I was, but that didn't sway me.

Shortly before Tex and Omega escaped, Tex began to refer to herself as O'Malley; either you called her that, or you didn't speak to her at all. 'O'Malley' challenged New Boy and me, but I refused. I'm not stupid. New Boy on the other hand, is proud. He accepted, despite me telling him not to, and they met up for a 'friendly' duel. It got ugly quickly; O'Malley was competitive and cruel, and New Boy lost the use of one of his eyes. When he ranted to me about it, I tried to defend O'Malley. The next day he requested to be moved from the Freelancer section to another part of the facility, using his eye as an excuse, and it was granted. I never saw him again. I never spoke to 'O'Malley again either, but shunned everyone and stayed by myself. Sigma became my only companion, as has remained so to this very day. I don't need anyone else.

...Who am I kidding? I miss Allison so much. But most of all, I miss New Boy; NB...

Agent York.

**A.I. LOG -TERMINATED-**


	6. Loss, Grief, and Red Bull

**Loss, Grief, and Red Bull**

Massachusetts brought the Mongoose to a shuddering halt, the structure she had seen earlier larger than she thought it was. A large, oddly shaped tower loomed over her, with a wide flat building next to it. Dust swirled around her feet as she got out of the vehicle and walked toward the structure. Sigma jittered nervously in her ear.

"Massa, I don't like it," the A.I. said inside her head.

"Scan the area; see if there are any life forms around."

"Scanning..."

There was a brief pause, and Sigma's holographic brow furrowed.

"A distress signal... It seems to be a Recovery Beacon," she said, bringing up a 3D map of the area in Massachusetts' visor.

"I thought we didn't receive Recovery Beacons?"

"Well, it appears we do."

Massachusetts shrugged, and then pulled her assault rifle off her back, checking she had a decent amount of ammunition, before striding towards the wide open door. The holographic lock had already been broken through, something that impressed her greatly. Only an expertly skilled hacker could get through one of those. Sigma would have managed it after a while, as she was trained in modern hacking. If it had been a recent holographic lock, it would have taken her less than a second. However, it was an older version of a holographic lock, something Sigma knew nothing about. She wasn't programmed to break them, as nobody really used them these days. Only a human would have been trained to handle them. The A.I. had never been used for low-key jobs, in which the old locks were everywhere.

"A hacker and a Freelancer have come through here… and it looks like at least one of them didn't come out again," Sigma said inside Massachusetts' head, bringing up the location of the Recovery Beacon.

"Right at the very top?" Massachusetts said, staring at the pinpoint on her visor, "These things are never easy, are they?"

"Would you enjoy this as much if they were?"

"Probably not. Keep a constant scan for hostiles and any other signs of life. Something got this Freelancer bad, and I'm not prepared to follow in their footsteps."

"Got it."

Massachusetts stepped carefully into the building, her rifle held aloft, putting her back to the wall, checking all corners with the night vision she had installed into her helmet's visor. Nothing showed up, but she wasn't satisfied. Keep her back covered by the walls, she moved slowly through the structure, noting the little things that indicated recent signs of life. Cups of half-drunk coffee were scattered about the room, and the central heating was still running. For some strange reason, there were posters plastered everywhere holding slogans such as 'Hang in there!', and 'You are a good person, and everyone likes you.' In addition, a computer was stood silently at one end of the room, flicking through its programs, its screen glowing sinisterly. Massachusetts jogged over to the machine.

"Check through its database; see if you can find any vid-logs or security footage. I'll use my own scanner for now."

Sigma nodded, and then disappeared inside the computer. Massachusetts pressed herself against the wall while she waited. Suddenly, a flickering image came up in the air.

"All I could find was the most recent security camera feed. Everything else was deleted."

"Well, bring it up. That shouldn't be too hard for you."

"No, you don't understand. I can't. It was all deleted… by another A.I."

Massachusetts froze. Another A.I.? If a human ever deleted something, an A.I. could easily recover it, their knowledge of computers so much greater than a human's could ever be. However, if another A.I. deleted it, it would lock down the removed material with its own specific code. This code was only available to the A.I. itself, and so no other A.I. or person could undo its actions.

"Which A.I.?" Massachusetts said sharply, her breathing heavy, a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"I don't know-" Sigma began, but the Freelancer interrupted her.

"Well, find out then!" she yelled frantically, and Sigma went back inside the computer, unscrambling the coding. There was a long and tense silence before the A.I. could give an answer.

"Massa, it's…" Sigma said, her holographic form lighting up the Spartan's visor.

"Who?" Massachusetts prayed it wasn't who she dreaded it was, the one A.I. and Freelancer that could drag her back to command, the one Freelancer who could kill her in the blink of an eye.

"It's Omega's code. This is his doing."

"Shit… play the security footage," Massachusetts whispered, pulling her gun up again, her eyes darting round the room, searching for O'Malley. They still had to be there… waiting, watching, wanting revenge. Suddenly O'Malley's voice made her jump, and she pressed hard on the trigger of her gun. Sigma, however, had expected this, and flipped the safety before Massachusetts had even had time to think.

"O'Malley is on the video, not here," Sigma said reassuringly, and Massachusetts let out the breath of air she had been holding, lowering the rifle and taking the safety off.

"Play it," she said, leaning heavily against the computer. The video showed up in the air, a hologram, and began to run.

"_No vis," said Tex, holding her gun aloft._

"_No vis," said a separate and slightly more muffled voice, which was off-screen._

"_There it is; bust the lock and this teleporter will take us up top," Tex called to the person with her, moving towards the edge of the camera._

"_Whoa, whoa, you said an __encrypted__ lock. This is a __holographic__ lock."_

_"Is there a difference?"_

_"Yeah,__ hence the two names."_

"_So, can you open it or not?"_

"_Of course I can! It's just much harder. I just brought it up 'cause I wanted you to realize how kick-ass I am."_

"_I'm convinced; get to work."_

There was a pause as the video ended, in which Massachusetts contemplated what she had just seen.

"Texas… she sounded like the old Ali. The Ali I knew before she got that thing implanted in her head… before she became O'Malley. Do you know who she was talking to?"

Sigma shook her head. "Her companion was too far away from the camera to be heard or seen."

"You don't think the beacon is Tex's, do you?"

"I don't know. We don't have the new version of the beacon, which gives Freelancer details. We only have the basic."

"Basic… it's been a long time since I've heard that term in our equipment conversations."

Sigma grinned.

"Anyway, I'm assuming you implanted the beacon in my armour?" Massachusetts said inquisitively.

"No, I-"

"Sig, you live in my head. You can't hide _shit_ from me."

"Fine," Sigma sighed, not making eye contact with her host, "I put the beacon in."

"Why?"

"Because I want to help the other Freelancers. We were lucky, Massa. With my creativity, I could think of a way for us to live. However, people like York and Delta… they won't do as well. Delta is good for logical situations and battle statistics, but living? No, I think all A.I. and their hosts should stick together. We were made together, and we should all help each other to prevent being unmade."

"You could have just asked me."

"You would never have agreed."

Well, that was true enough, and Massachusetts fell silent. Sigma folded her arms, triumphant. Massachusetts sighed.

"Fine, let's go see who dying or dead then," she grumbled, making Sigma smile, "Even though I really don't give a shit."

Massachusetts checked her ammunition again, looked about the room she was in one last time, and then proceeded up the ramp that led outside. What she found there was chaos.

Dead bodies littered the place, blood smeared and splattered along the walls and floor, soldiers dead everywhere. They all wore Spartan armour. Bullet holes cover the walls, and Massachusetts couldn't take a single step without standing on an empty gun cartridge. Suddenly Sigma left Massachusetts' head, causing the Freelancer to spin around and look where her A.I. had gone. Sigma had found another computer terminal, and was accessing it.

"I've found a video – no, wait, – two videos! One is dated a month back, and another from a few hours ago," Sigma cried, her image looking excited and flustered at the same time.

"Play the older one first."

The video appeared in the air in front of her, and she instantly recognised one of the soldiers, the one in white armour.

"_Wyoming," said a man in purple armour with a strangely evil and familiar voice, "what have you got to report to me?"_

"_It appears our dear Tex is out to destroy you, Omega."_

Massachusetts flinched, but continued to watch the footage.

"_Tex, eh? How did you come by this knowledge?"_

"_She appeared at our base and killed several of my men. I have one survivor who can recount the tale gladly for you, old chap."_

"_Good, good… torture him until he tells us everything!"_

_Suddenly Omega shuddered, and his host took over._

"_Wait, now that's not very nice, Mister!" Doc cried, scandalised._

"_Force him to drink Red Bull until he can no more, and then, when he has given us the answers, force him to drink Red Bull anyway until he explodes! Mwahahahahaha! Mwahahahahahahaaaaaa! Mwahahahaha-ack!"_

_As Omega choked on his own evilness, Doc took over._

"_You know, motivational speaking does wonders for peoples' confidence. All you have to do is say a few nice words, reassure him of his safety, and I'm sure he'll cooperate!"_

"_But," Wyoming said, staring at Doc in wonder, "we'd be lying now, wouldn't we? I was planning to use his head as a rather splendid wall hanging. I have to think of the money problems we've been having recently, don't I? Killing him would be much cheaper than helping him."_

"_I'm trained in giving useless advice to lift peoples' spirits! I could do it for free!" Doc said happily, but Omega had reached the end of his patience._

"_Oh, shut up," he snapped, before turning to Wyoming. "Get what you need from your man, and then kill him with liquid Oblivion! I want you to do everything you can to slow Tex down…"_

"_In the meantime, let's hang up some feel good posters to boost the morale of our living soldiers!" Doc said cheerfully._

"_Shut up!" _Omega yelled, and the video cut off.

Massachusetts and Sigma stared at each other, completely bewildered.

"…Well," the A.I. said slowly, "at least we know Tex and Omega are separate now."

"Sig," the Freelancer mumbled, shaking her head, "either I was hallucinating, or everyone in that video was off their fucking heads."

"Which option would you prefer?"

"…I…don't know."

"Well, then I suggest we ignore it and see if the next video will continue to kill your brain cells off or replenish them."

Massachusetts nodded mutedly as the next security clip started.

"_Tex, sitrep!" the voice yelled, no longer fuzzy._

Massachusetts recognised it, but was uncertain if she had gotten it wrong. She waited for her answer with baited breath.

"_Five of them at three six and three O!" Tex called back, running across the screen, letting out short burst from her rifle as she went. The A.I. Delta appeared nearby her, just about visible at the corner of the hologram._

"_Three Alpha mark. I do believe I've received the next part of the sentence," he said, scanning the statistics of the current battle. Tex shot down one of the enemies, before ducking behind for cover._

"_Dead one at three, one down, cover my thirteen!"_

"_Problem," Delta transmitted, "beta and small explosives needed."_

"_Ace?" the companion asked, finally appearing on screen._

"York?" Massachusetts whispered, stepping forward slightly. Sigma had already read the coding, and knew what was about to happen. However, she kept her silence, knowing her host would prefer to see it in her own time.

"_Y, stop thinking!" Tex shouted above the gunfire. "Go low!"_

"_Copy!"_

"_Next reload; let's split up, you go Bravo."_

"_Copy. D, need a speaker for mark."_

"_Speaker active," Delta replied, hovering next to York's head._

"_Copy," said Tex, loading up her gun and preparing herself for her next move._

"_Mark."_

"_Mark!" yelled Tex and York, before jumping out of their hiding place. They ran forward, guns blazing, wiping out the few soldiers that remained who had paused to reload their weapons. Over their side was Delta, reading out battle progress as they fought._

"_Reload and go. Three. Enemy eliminated. 92% efficiency. 36 rounds of 39 fired."_

"_Dammit__, jam!" Tex cried suddenly, her weapon ceasing to shoot. She shook it frantically, and then dived out of the way of a wave of bullets. "Cover, cover, cover!"_

It was then Massachusetts noticed, on the left of a retreating York, Wyoming lurking out of his sight.

"York!" she screamed, as if her words could change events that had already happened. She watched in horror as Wyoming opened fire, hitting York in his left side and sending him to the floor. Delta reacted immediately, attracting Tex's attention.

"_Alarm!"_

_Tex threw a grenade at Wyoming, forcing him back, and then rushed to York's side, who was writhing on the floor in agony._

"_York, are you okay?" she said, breathing heavily in her visor._

_York groaned in agony. "It's that damn left side…"_

"_D, info," Tex commanded quickly, and Delta brought up a datasheet of York's condition._

"_York has sustained two wounds to his upper-left chest. Recommend evac stat."_

"_Just, need a minute. Heahh…" York muttered, barely conscious._

"_Administering field stint, and analgesic," Delta reported._

"_Wait, Tex, don't… don't let 'im-"_

_York's voice trailed off._

"_York is now unconscious," Delta told Tex emotionlessly, "Alarm: target Alpha has reloaded."_

"_How bad is it, D?" Tex asked, clearly worried._

"_York will not survive."_

"_Okay, D, hop in to me. I'll host you until we get outta this."_

"_Thank you, Allison, but I would prefer to stay with York. He will need me to maintain his pain medication."_

_Tex leant forward, looking Delta right in the eye._

"_An A.I. can't fall in to enemy hands, D. If you're in there when he dies, you know what the armour's protocol will do to you," she said seriously._

"_I would prefer to stay with York," Delta repeated, more firmly this time._

"_...That's very kind of you, D."_

"_It's just part of what makes us human, Tex," Delta said, almost sadly._

The recording froze at a shot of York's helmet, and Massachusetts stepped forward again, her armoured hand reaching out to touch him. Naturally, her hand went straight though the hologram and she paused, her mind whirling uncertainly.

"Massa," Sigma said softly, reading the emotional patterns that were running though her host's thoughts. Massachusetts shook her head.

"York," she mumbled, moving through the hologram and leaning desperately against the computer, "I have to find him. I have to see that he's gone. I can't leave him here... like this. I just can't, Sig."

In one swift movement, Massachusetts did the worst thing a Freelancer could do, breaking all the rules, all her private codes of honour.

She threw her gun away.

Sigma gasped in shock as it hit the floor and bounced, watching as her host sprinted across the complex, calling for York. Massachusetts bounded over the bodies, turning them over, and even, in some cases, removing the helmets to see if it was him. None of them was, and she felt panic begin to set in her.

York... he had always had such an effect on her, to make her weak, to follow her heart instead of her head; to follow her feelings instead of her logic and wit. He brought out a side in herself that she had once embraced, but now hated and despised. Sigma appeared by the Freelancer's side, ready to help the best she could, despite the fact she did not understand human emotion too well.

"Follow the beacon," she said, bringing up the location in Massachusetts' helmet. She looked at it for a moment, and then set off again, her concentration set solely on the target... on finding York. Suddenly the beacon bleeped at high speed, and Sigma called for Massachusetts to stop. The Freelancer had already found him, however, and ignored her A.I.

"York!" Massachusetts cried, dropping to his side and shaking him. "It's me, it's Massa! Look!"

Massachusetts undid the locks on her helmet that secured it to her head, and threw it aside with a loud clang. Sigma had already disabled the cameras the second she saw her host reach for her armour, so no one would see her face. Massachusetts slowly leant forward, turned York over onto his back, before running her metal encased hand slowly across York's still chest. Her hair, which was half hanging in her face, half-plastered to her forehead with sweat, came loose slightly, and fell into her eyes, which were beginning to water. She shook him desperately again, wanting him to sit up, to say he was alright, to take her in her arms and tell her everything would be fine...

False hope is the worst kind, as it always ends in heartbreak, but Massachusetts had nothing else to hold onto. Her trembling hands scrabbled frantically for the electronic releases on York's helmet, pulling it sharply and then struggling to remove it without hurting him. Then the helmet was gone, and she was looking at a face she had not seen in years.

"Y-York?" she stammered, and touched his cheek, his skin pale and waxy looking, his lips tinged slightly blue, the ravaged remains of his left eye a grim reminder of the pain Tex had caused. Why did he help her? Did he not hate her? Sigma brought up a statistic bank, and stared at it in amazement.

"Massa, the healing unit on his armour... it's keeping him alive, but barely," she said, sifting through the necessary medical files. "A wound like that would and _should_ have killed him by now."

"But he's alive?" Massachusetts said, sitting up sharply and looking at Sigma.

"Barely, like I said. He won't wake up, Massa. He's too far gone, and his unit doesn't have enough power for the job anyway-"

There was a loud crack as Massachusetts pulled the front plating off her chest piece, before removing a chip from its core.

"His unit may not have enough power," she whispered, her breathing heavy and irregular, "but mine does."

"You put that in his armour and you'll never get it back. Once he dies the armour will destroy itself."

"I don't give a shit," Massachusetts hissed, and opened up York's plating carefully, installing the chip with steady hands.

"I've calculated the power of the units combined... He'll only be awake for a minute or so, and then he'll fall back into his comatose state."

"Sig, activate the healing unit."

Sigma sighed, but obeyed, and a green light filtered all around him. Massachusetts sat beside York, and touched his hand, holding it gently. Suddenly, the hand twitched, and then slowly squeezed her own.

"...Hello?" York mumbled to himself, his eyes flickering open and squinting in the setting sun. Massachusetts leaned forward, smiling shakily to him. He blinked, surprised when he saw her.

"Massa?" he whispered, licking the dried blood off his colourless lips. Massachusetts nodded, still holding his hand.

"York," she replied quietly, uncertain what to say.

"Why do... I feel so... numb?"

"It's the healing unit; it's keeping you alive and preventing you from feeling pain."

York stared at the sky, the pinks and yellows so vibrant on such a dark time in his life. With difficulty, he turned his head towards her.

"When I left," he said, struggling with his words, "I knew it was a mistake. I... tried to go back, but I couldn't. When I finally... did, you'd already gone. I followed... your example, taking Delta... with me. I... I looked for you. All this... time I've been searching, but I... never found you. You... disappeared... and now... that I'm... dying, you're here. It... sucks."

"Why did you go?" Massachusetts said, biting her lip.

"My pride... always got the better of me. Delta once spoke to me... about pride. He said 'I was registering an emotion, but I... mistook it for stupidity.'"

"The two are closely related." Massachusetts smiled weakly.

"...I was stupid."

Massachusetts shook her head.

"So was I," she said softly, smiling to him. Then she leaned forward and kissed him gently, a lingering kiss to which he responded to gratefully. The healing unit beeped loudly, and York shuddered, falling still, the green light disappearing, his breathing reduced significantly.

"How long has he got?" Massachusetts asked Sigma quietly as she sat up. Sigma shrugged.

"I don't know," the A.I. said, "but it won't be long. Your healing unit blew its circuits, so he won't be waking up again."

Massachusetts nodded slowly, and then did something that surprised Sigma completely and utterly. She lay down on the floor and put her head on York's chest, before staring out to the growing darkness on the horizon. Sigma took it as her cue to leave, and went to investigate the files in the computer further.

It was not long after nightfall before York's healing unit finally could not sustain him any longer. Massachusetts knew the exact moment when he was gone. She listened to his faint, fluttering heartbeat getting slower and slower with each passing moment. Her body moved with the rising and falling of his chest as he breathed, which became increasingly irregular. Finally, York's chest rose one final time, and he let out a deep breath, before falling still. The heartbeat struggled for a single moment, and then went silent.

Massachusetts did not move for the entire night, but stayed where she was, tears slowly dripping down her face. She felt his body grow cold, the chill spreading to her, and she knew in her heart, she had become one of the dead as well.

_

* * *

_

Author's notes: One thing I would like to mention: The Covenant are part of the RvB universe, as Grif mentions them to Simmons in the very first episode.


	7. Memories, Torture, and Swimming Pools

_**WARNING:**__ RvB: Reconstruction spoiler alert! If you have not watched all or any of the new RvB series, then get your ass over to Roosterteeth now and watch them. They are fantastically brilliant, and one thousand times better than the Blood Gulch Chronicles, which shows RT did the impossible by bettering themselves. Seriously, watch it._

_Now._

_No, don't look at the screen reading my meaningless words, go watch them._

_All chapters after, and including, this one will contain spoilers for Reconstruction, so you really should watch it now so you don't ruin it for yourself later._

_Seriously._

_You're still reading this?_

_Don't make me set Massachusetts on you._

_Go watch it._

_NOW!_

* * *

**Memories, Torture, and Swimming Pools**

The Mongoose sped across the great, barren landscape, flying up dust from its wheels as it went. The rider, Agent Massachusetts, had been driving it silently for hours on end, not stopping to rest, to think - only drive.

"Massa," her A.I. said, popping up on the vehicle's interface, her expression one of concern and authority, "you've been driving for eight hours straight. Get some rest."

Massachusetts ignored her and stepped down harder on the pedal instead. Sigma sighed and then promptly cut out the power for the Mongoose. The Freelancer turned sharply in surprise and fell of the vehicle, rolling with speed along the dry and dirty floor.

"Get some rest," Sigma ordered, her voice sharp. Massachusetts stood up, shaking her head.

"Why the hell should I listen to you?" she spat, moving over to the Mongoose and trying to jumpstart it again.

"Because, as a computer, I know best!"

"No, you _think_ you know best. You only consider the best possible outcome for us, not for the people who need it the most."

"The Delta A.I. was in need. He was destroyed because you refuse to remove his chip from York's armour in time!"

"York was dying; he needed medication to numb the pain, and Delta wanted to stay. He's not destroyed. The armour shuts his coding down and preserves him, because it's cheaper to recover than it is to eradicate. You're the one who infiltrated Command for that bet we had last month. You found the file. You're the one who read it out to me."

"But something else could get him!"

"Like what?"

"The Meta. He'll find that body and take all the implants, including the A.I."

"I don't care. York's… dead. He won't miss them. And if we took the A.I., then the Meta will only have more of a reason to hunt us down. A.I. are nothing but trouble."

Massachusetts fell silent, and Sigma scowled at her host's words as the Mongoose came back online. Then she picked up a signal on her scanner.

"Incoming life form, Massa. I don't know whether they are hostile or not…."

Massachusetts nodded and took the gravity hammer off her back, holding it aloft warily. A warthog began to materialise in the distance, causing the Freelancer to tighten her grip in panic.

"…Their tag is coming up as 'WASHINGTON'… I think it's David," Sigma said quietly, bringing up the details on the visor. Massachusetts let out a slight breath of relief, but remained on her guard. Everyone was aware that his A.I., Epsilon, had driven him insane. For all she knew, Washington could be working with Command, bringing rogue Freelancers back to base to have their A.I. removed. The Warthog stopped short of Massachusetts, and Washington got out, striding towards them edgily, his battle rifle raised and pointed at Massachusetts' chest.

"Stand down, Wash," Massachusetts said in bored tones. Washington looked at her for a moment, and then slowly lowered his weapon.

"Massachusetts?" he asked.

"The one and only."

"There's a Recovery Beacon sounded not far in the opposite direction you were travelling. Do you have any to do with it? I wouldn't be surprised," Washington replied, adding the snide comment slyly at the end. It was obvious he thought she would shrug it off, but instead it had the opposite effect. She thought about closing York's eyes for the last time, slipping his helmet back on to keep his soldier's dignity, and felt her temper rise out of control.

"Wash, move!" Sigma shouted to him, just as Massachusetts lashed out with the hammer. He dove out of the way so that the hammer went straight over his head, and then rolled up. In one swift movement, he disarmed his attacker from behind. He tossed it far back, watching with shock as it cracked and deformed the earth it touched, buckling it out of shape. This distraction allowed Massachusetts to hit him round the back of the head with her shotgun, nearly knocking him out. Had she not rushed her attack, she could have easily killed him. Washington grunted in surprise, turning and letting out a blast from his battle rifle as he fell, which missed completely. Realising the mistake could cost him his life, he hooked his leg behind Massachusetts', bringing her to the ground, and then quickly kneeling over her, putting his gun to her forehead. As he did, though, he felt her shotgun ram into his throat, just beneath his chin, and he froze.

"Looks like this is a stalemate," Massachusetts said calmly. "If one of us pulls the trigger, the other's armour will lock down, activating the other trigger though automatic clenched fists."

"Move your gun away," Washington said with strained tones, the weapon that was digging into his neck hindering his speech.

"Not until you move yours. I don't trust you."

"Neither do I."

"Fine. I'll leave this to Sig. Sig, deactivate our gun mechanisms so we can move away from each other."

There was a click, and Massachusetts moved her gun away. There was a pause, and then Washington slowly stood up.

"Any particular reason why you attacked me?" he asked, his voice full of contempt. Massachusetts remained silent, so Sigma answered for her.

"York is the Freelancer in trouble. He's dead," Sigma said bluntly, causing Massachusetts to flinch.

"I see."

There was an awkward silence.

"What's to stop me from handing you over to Command right now?" Washington tested suddenly, folding his arms.

"Well, _David_-" Massachusetts began, but was interrupted.

"Don't call me that."

"Why not, David? That's your name, isn't it?"

"Alright, how about I call you by your real name, E-?"

"Finish that sentence and I'll put a bullet in your head," Massachusetts growled, the safety clicking free of her weapon as she pointed it at him. Washington did likewise, but then realised his were still locked up.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," he groaned, now fully aware of the dangerous position he was in. Massachusetts ignored him.

"Fine, no names," she said bluntly, paranoid that Command could hear the conversation, "but if you even think of handing me over, do you know what will happen?"

"Enlighten me," Washington replied sarcastically.

"Epsilon ruined you. I'm surprised you're even working for Command anymore. But if you turn me in, I'll send Sigma into your head and make your life hell."

Washington flinched and took a step back.

"Sigma isn't like Omega," he said desperately. "She can't move from body to body-"

"-permanently," Massachusetts finished for him. "She can move from body to body, but she can't stay there like Omega can. Eventually she has to return to her source, the one in my armour, to rest. However, that is more than enough time to seriously _fuck things up in your head_. So, I strongly suggest you reconsider your actions, Washington."

Washington hadn't allowed Command to fit him with another A.I. since Epsilon, and with good reason. The A.I. had gone insane, unravelling itself in Washington's head, taking him with it. There were things he learnt from those terrible moments; horrific things that Command kept secret from not only their own staff, but also the rest of the world. He knew if he had a new A.I., it could find out; Command would find out, and then he would be subsequently removed from existence. However, Massachusetts couldn't know this, and he decided it was a bluff.

"You're lying," he said, challenging her. Massachusetts smirked hollowly from behind her helmet.

"Give him a taster, Sig," she said. Sigma nodded, and then leapt from the armour, an almost invisible purple blur in the air, before disappearing completely. Washington froze.

"Don't do it, Massachusetts," he said, his voice beginning to adopt an edge of panic, holding his hand out as if to ward her off. He tried talking to Sigma. "Program, abort previous command. Respond!"

"She only listens to me… and usually ignores me as well."

Washington looked up at Massachusetts, his breathing heavy. Then he jolted as the A.I. entered his head, falling to his knees and crying out in agony. The program was in his head, sifting through his memories, discovering the truth. Washington clutched the dirt off the ground in his fist, swaying unsteadily on all fours. He gritted his teeth, trying not to show weakness to the other Freelancer. His shoulder shook as the A.I. picked his thoughts merrily; sweat dripping inside his helmet, his ability to speak gone. Then suddenly Sigma hit the thought he was trying to hide the most… the memories that had almost destroyed him.

The memories of Epsilon.

_Light, pain, torture-_

_Memory-_

_Memories-_

Washington let out a scream of pain and fell backwards, hitting the floor and writhing uncontrollably.

_Lies, deceit-_

_Creativity._

_An-_

His muscles spasmed, the flickering images of a crumbling mind shattering his, the torture of a thousand hells burning down on his. It ruined the A.I.; split them, divided them, dragged them apart.

_Anger, hate, sadness, hurt—_

_Hurt._

_Hur- hurt—Lo-_

_Love._

As quick as it had arrived, the terrors of the past went, and Washington's body went into a state of numbness. He found himself unable to move at all. Sigma was gone.

Massachusetts could only stare in shock. She hadn't expected anything like that: such violence and pain. She looked down at Sigma, who was fixated on Washington. Her colour had darkened considerably, and she looked… older. Like the things she had seen in Washington's mind had changed her forever. She looked at the Freelancer lying still on the ground, the only sign of life from him being his rising and falling chest as he breathed unsteadily. Making her mind up, she went over to help him.

"Get back," he hissed as she approached, shakily standing up and moving to the Warthog. Massachusetts and Sigma watched him go, uncertain whether he was about to keel over or not. As he climbed into the Warthog, he turned to them.

"Tex taught you well," he said bitterly.

"Remember, Wash," Massachusetts called out to him, "you say anything… I will find you."

There was a long silence, in which Washington merely stared at the steering wheel of his vehicle.

"I know," he muttered finally to himself, and then put his foot down on the pedal. Dirt sprayed up from the wheels as he drove away into the distance.

Then he was gone.

"What did you find in there?" Massachusetts asked Sigma.

"Some things are best left unsaid," Sigma replied quietly, and refused to speak any more on the subject.

Washington put his head against the wheel as he gunned across the dry, dusty plains. His mind still ached, his heart still fluttering in terror from having to relive the failure of Epsilon. Then he noticed a new file in the manually-run electronics of his armour. He accessed it and listened, recognising it as the voice as Sigma.

"_Agent Washington, this is A.I. Sigma. I saw the thoughts in your head, the memories, and I think I finally understand. I know what I am now; I know what I must do. I'm not whole; I'm broken. I'm part of a larger structure, and I've been oblivious to it all this time. I won't be sharing the things I uncovered in the vaults of your mind with Agent Massachusetts; it does not concern her. Relax, because everything will be all right. You're safe. This file will delete itself under my coding once listened to, so you have no worries of it being discovered. Good luck, Washington."_

There was a bleep, and the file disappeared completely. Well, at least she was honest about one thing. Would she be honest with the other thing though; keep her silence?

He guessed he would just have to wait.

* * *

The mansion of Vernon Larson was elaborate, to say the least. It seemed as if it had been decorated to perfection, but then had extra unnecessary bits added on top. Massachusetts wrinkled her nose in distaste and then approached the front doors of the target's house. Usually Sigma would help her work out a creative and over-the-top plan, quite often with hilarious results. However, she had been strangely quiet since they had confronted Washington, so Massachusetts had decided to just run in and blast everything to pieces. She needed something to hit, to take away the bottled up feelings she had been hiding after they found York.

"Do you have an appointment with Mr. Larso-" one of the guards began. Massachusetts cut him off by firing her shotgun in his face. As he fell to the floor, his companion turned to shoot her, but she was too quick, hitting him across the face with gun, knocking him out.

"Crack open the door, Sig."

There was a click, and Massachusetts kicked the now unlocked door down and off its hinges before striding into the mansion. Larson's face appeared on a huge screen above her, a scowl on his face.

"So, Massachusetts, you choose to betray me?" he said, clearly unhappy with the current predicament. "So be it. Don't expect to get out of here alive."

The screen flickered off, and doors all around the hallway burst open, men armed with guns flooding through. As some moved beneath it, Massachusetts threw a plasma grenade so that it stuck fast on the screen supports. It exploded, shaking the structure violently, and the whole thing came crashing down, along with sections of the ceiling, onto the guards. Massachusetts listened to the crunch, barely audible above the tremendous noise of the falling rubble, and then poked her head out from behind a marble pillar. There were a few left alive, so she took the hammer off her back and charged. Screams and guts flew about the room, bouncing off the walls, and Massachusetts soon found her black armour dowsed with gooey red, tendrils of organs and shattered bone shards dripping off her. She looked about at the destruction caused by her, feeling comforted by the death and power she wielded in her hands. Then she turned and made her way up the stairs, which had now been damaged by the collapsed ceiling. Each step left blooded prints on the cream carpet.

Suddenly through the front door came more guards, several of them holding rocket launchers.

"Well, shit," Massachusetts said, before jumping off the stairs as a rocket went past, taking down a large section of the wall behind her, nearly crushing her.

"Go towards the North part of the building. The swimming pool there has lots of cover," Sigma said quickly, bringing up the map for her to see. Massachusetts nodded and sprinted down the twisted corridors, meaning her pursuers would not have a clear shot her.

"There's the pool, up ahead. Get to cover!" the A.I. said urgently in the Freelancer's head. She nodded, turning to the nearest pillar, but then suddenly found she was flying through the air as a rocket hit the ground behind her, the impact lifting her off her feet.

"Shhhhiiiit!" Massachusetts yelled as she did a less than graceful flip high into the air, heading straight for the pool. If she hit the water, she would sink like a rock, and there would be no way for her to get out. She'd have to wait until the emergency oxygen supply in her watertight suit ran out, before drowning. Faster than thought, she grabbed the high-tech item she had stolen from a military base a few months ago off her belt, and threw it hard at the water. It opened out into a gravity lift and sent her hurling up to a concealed balcony above the pool. She landed hard, the wind knocked out of her, and then slowly staggered to her feet. The guards knew she was out of their reach, and so stood still, waiting for a chance to kill her. Massachusetts had other ideas though. Picking a regular grenade off her belt, she threw it so that it bounced off the wall and landed at the feet of the guards. Instantly they dove out of the way, one of them landing on the gravity lift that was slowly sinking in the water. He was propelled through the air, and landed right in front of Massachusetts. She grinned behind her visor, and then shot him in the head, taking his rocket launcher, before throwing him over the balcony into the pool. She then pointed the launcher at the guards.

"Let's see how you like it, cockbites," she muttered, pulling the trigger. The blast landed in the middle of them, blowing them all to pieces. Arms and legs rained down around the Freelancer, turning the calm blue of the water below an ugly red. Bits of ceiling and wall were crumbling loose as Massachusetts vaulted down from the balcony, landing at the water's edge.

"Can you not do just one mission without a result of destruction similar to the effects of ten nuclear warheads?" Sigma grumbled, already knowing the answer.

"Nope," Massachusetts said bluntly, "I enjoy my work. Now, let's go get our target."

* * *

Massachusetts kicked down the door to the location of the sole indication of life on her scanner.

"Larson, I know you're in here. We'll get this over with quickly and I'll promise not to make it painful."

"You don't really want to do this, Massachusetts. I know you don't. It's Downing, isn't it? He put you up to this! He's rotten, Massachusetts, rotten to the core!"

"Aren't we all?" the Freelancer said simply, following the scanner, pinpointing his exact position.

"I know you won't go through with this… I've been loyal to you, always paid what I owed. Now, I'm going to step out, and when I do, we're going to talk this over civilly."

Larson moved from his hiding place, and Massachusetts raised the pistol she had taken from the body of a dead guard. There was a crack, and Larson keeled over, a bullet hole in his forehead.

"Scan his files, Sig," Massachusetts ordered, stepping over Larson's body and opening his desk. "See where he keeps that sword."

A panel in the wall behind Massachusetts popped open as soon as she spoke, and she smiled to herself.

"Way ahead of you, Massa," Sigma replied, grinning.

"OK, now to deliver the good news to Mr. Downing," Massachusetts said, taking the object out of its hideaway. "A sword and a dead body. Not a bad day's work, huh?"

_

* * *

_

Author's notes: For those who wish to know, the Meta is a character from 'RvB: Recovery One' and 'RvB: Reconstruction'. I suggest you watch the Reconstruction series before you read anymore of this story, as spoilers will occur.


	8. Lasers, Hornets, and Motherfu

**Lasers, Hornets, and Motherfucking Firepower**

Richard Downing picked up the sword, admiring the shimmering, purple-white glow of its lethal blade. He stood up from his desk, the sword held out at arm's length, and then swished it through the air, the roaring noise it made causing his skin to prickle. It was finally _his_. He looked over at Massachusetts.

"You have done well," he said simply, and then sat down at his desk, bringing the footage of Massachusetts' face up onto the wall through a projector. Then he held his finger over the keyboard, a smirk on his face. The Freelancer realised something was serious wrong.

"My money?" she asked curtly, and Downing shook his head.

"My dear Massachusetts, do you really think I can afford that sort of payment?"

"Well, you better hurry up and afford it, or you'll find a bullet in your skull. And I thought you deleted that security tape?"

"The men are gone. The footage is not. Now, I'm going to make you a deal. Either you accept that you will not be paid, and work for me from now on, or I send a detailed account of you and hunting grounds straight to your Command. You even try to attack me now and I'll press the button. It won't matter that I'm dead, only that your location will be revealed."

"I need money to live, you asshole!" Massachusetts cried angrily, raising her gun. Downing moved his hand over the send button, forcing her to stop abruptly.

"Ah, ah, ah," he interrupted, a grin mingled in with a look of arrogance and superiority. "You won't need to worry about living costs again. You will remain here, my own personal soldier, ready to assassinate and assist in any operations I deem worthy for you."

"So, basically I'll be your pet?" Massachusetts spat bitterly, glaring in fury at him. Inside her head, however, she was giving instructions to Sigma.

_Be creative, Sig. Make him pay._

"_But of course,"_ Sigma replied, and then left the A.I. slot in Massachusetts' armour.

"A pet? I'd never thought of it like that… but yes, yes you will," Downing replied, completely unaware of the files projected on the wall behind him suddenly changing and switching around. Massachusetts grinned, resisting the urge to laugh, and then walked casually over to Downing. Sigma came back into her head, looking extremely pleased with herself.

"You know what, Downing?" Massachusetts said daringly, "I don't think you will."

With those words out in the open, she promptly shot him in the foot with her pistol. Downing screamed in agony, nearly falling over.

"Last chance, Massachusetts! Stand down or I _will_ send these files!"

Massachusetts responded by shooting him in the other foot. Downing sunk to his knees, shaking all over.

"Fine!" he hissed, and hit the send button. He smiled triumphantly, waiting for Massachusetts to start panicking. Then he heard the laughter.

"You… arrogant… dumbass!" the Freelancer howled, supporting herself with the desk. Sigma appeared in front of the confused Downing, who was beginning to realise he had been tricked.

"I deleted all the files concerning me and Massa," the A.I. said happily, "and I replaced them with these."

Downing stared in horror as the data and files which provided concrete evidence to his criminal nature appeared in front of him. Extortions, assassinations, drugs, robbery, murder; it was all there. He had just publicised his darkest secret to every high figure of authority across the world.

"Oh," Sigma continued, "by the way, I added a little extra something to make your reputation less… credible."

An obscene image of two men being exceedingly intimate with each other materialised in front of Downing. His face had been worked on to one of the men so that it looked exactly like him. Even Downing wouldn't have known that it wasn't real if he had looked at it from a different point of view.

"You… wouldn't," he whispered, now feeling quite sick, the pain in his feet numb.

"We didn't," Massachusetts said, shrugging. "You did."

Downing let out a moan of anguish, putting his face in his hands.

"You've ruined me… ruined me…" he said quietly to himself, shaking his head. Massachusetts snorted in contempt.

"You shouldn't have tried to keep me. You should have kept your word," Massachusetts said scornfully. Downing looked up at her, his face full of hate.

"You'll get everything you deserve!" he yelled, and pulled out his gun. Massachusetts reacted immediately, kicking the gun out of his hand before he had a chance to use it, and drawing her own, shooting him several times in the chest. Downing fell back, blood pouring from his mouth and wounds, twitched, and then lay still. Massachusetts went through his desk as she had Larson's.

"Take all the money from his account and transfer it to mine," Massachusetts ordered Sigma. Then she found a packet of cigarettes.

A few minutes later, when Sigma had sorted out all the money and destroyed all security footage and working cameras, she reappeared to see Massachusetts with her helmet off, smoking, savouring the taste and rush of nicotine with each drag.

"It's been years since I've had one of these," she said happily, sighing. Sigma shook her head disapprovingly.

"They're bad for you. You're killing yourself slowly you know that? And anyway, I thought you'd given them up?"

"One can't hurt," Massachusetts said, shrugging. Suddenly there was a knocking at the door.

"Sir?" a voice called from the other side. "Sir, we heard gunshots, and I was sent to investigate. Sir? I'm coming in to check on you-"

As the guard opened the door and walked in, Massachusetts raised her gun and shot him, before taking another puff of her cigarette. She finished it and flicked it to the floor, grinding it beneath her shoe, before putting her helmet back on.

"Time for work, Sigma," she said, reloading her gun and approaching the door.

* * *

The situation was bad; Massachusetts knew that for certain. She was surrounded and cornered in Downing's huge basement; her ammunition low, her options running out. She hadn't expected so many guards, and she cursed her own arrogance, for underestimating Downing and his men. They weren't like Larson's, thugs, looking for easy money, they were trained soldiers and extremely lethal.

"Sig, stat me!" Massachusetts yelled over the gunfire that was aimed at her cover.

"We only have enough ammo to take half of them out. If we take them head on, we won't last five seconds. If we make a run for it, we have a thirty percent chance of survival, if we-"

Sigma stopped suddenly, analysing the scanner.

"What is it?" Massachusetts asked, looking at the A.I.

"Agent Illinois is inside the building, not far from here! If we get her help, we might have a chance!"

"Quick, give me directions… we'll run on the count of three."

"Wait, on three, or after three?" Sigma said, grinning.

"Not the time, Sig!" Massachusetts growled. "One… two…"

A grenade suddenly landed beside Massachusetts, and she jumped up instantly, following the map.

"Fuck it, we'll just run!" she yelled as the grenade exploded behind her, sending boxes and splintered wood everywhere. Bullets rained down on her as she turned a corner, working her way through the twisted maze that way Downing's basement. With each step she could hear the guards gaining on her. Suddenly a bullet hit her in the side and she cried out in pain, nearly falling over.

"Sig, slow them down somehow!"

"On it."

The generator above them suddenly short-circuited, making an impassable electrical barrier behind them.

"It won't last long, Massa. Find Illinois quickly!" Sigma said urgently. Massachusetts nodded in acknowledgement, before staggering down the corridor, clutching at her side. Then she saw the Freelancer, locked in what looked like a barred cell.

"Hey, you, Spartan," Massachusetts called out to the figure, "are you Illinois?"

"What if I am?" the Freelancer said warily to Massachusetts.

"I'm currently being pursued by a legion of guards. I can't take them all out by myself. If I let you out, will you help me?"

"You can't get me put of here. Only Downing has access to my cell."

"I'll take that as a yes. Sig, open the door."

The electric lock sparked and the door swung open. Illinois stared.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Name's Massachusetts, and this is Sigma, my A.I. Now, if you don't mind, I need assistance wiping out all of Downing's guards. They're a bit pissed since I put a bullet in his head."

"You killed Downing?"

"Yup."

"Excuse me," she said, walking past and breaking the lock on a small cupboard. She pulled out a large green gun, which Massachusetts recognised as a Spartan laser. She whistled in appreciation, and then stood back to watch the show. Illinois raised the gun and pointed it down the corridor to where the guards would appear when they caught up. The laser began to charge as shadows grew on the walls, and when they finally rounded the corridor, it blasted out a monstrous beam of red light, incinerating them all and taking down all the walls. Massachusetts stared at the gaping maw that lead to outside, and then shrugged. She picked up some of Illinois' weapons from the cupboard, rearming herself, and then limped towards the exit. Illinois followed her, keeping a lookout for any unlikely survivors.

* * *

"No, you're not coming with me," Massachusetts said firmly, climbing into the Hornet.

"I saved your ass!" Illinois said indignantly.

"Yeah, well, I set you free."

"I don't care what you say; I'm not staying here on my own."

"Good luck keeping up with a Hornet, then."

Massachusetts gunned up the aircraft and began to lift it off the roof. Illinois shook her head, before taking a running leap off the roof, grabbing hold of the exterior passenger seat and hanging on tightly. Massachusetts sighed, but didn't try to shake her off, as another Hornet and a purple Covenant aircraft, known as the Banshee, came into view. They take care of Illinois for her… if they didn't take care of Massachusetts first. Massachusetts opened fire on the nearest enemy, which happened to be the Banshee, the more manoeuvrable of the two hostiles, but it dodged and waved her fire. As it flew underneath her Hornet, though, Illinois had a sudden idea. Massachusetts watched in amazement as Illinois suddenly jumped from the Hornet. The fall would kill her, so why did she leap?

The answer became apparent when Illinois landed directly on top of the Banshee.

"No. Way," Massachusetts exclaimed, dodging a rocket fired by the enemy Hornet. Illinois forced open the Banshee's door and dragged the occupier out, throwing him to his death. The Banshee, now with no pilot, plummeted towards the ground, and then suddenly pulled up as Illinois closed the hatch door behind her and took control of the aircraft.

"Patch me into her comm., Sig," Massachusetts said. A moment later, Illinois was on the line.

"Massachusetts, is that you?"

"Yes. Nice work with the Banshee. Now, we need to take down the Hornet or our asses are toast. You distract him, as you can move better than me, and I'll blast him with this motherfucker's firepower."

"I'm on it."

It took minutes for the plan to work. Illinois flitted about the Hornet like an irritating fly, and Massachusetts let the rockets go into the mechanisms that kept it airborne. It hung in the air for a single second, and then tumbled down to the mansion below, crashing through the roof and exploding, taking half of the building with it. Illinois cheered through her radio, causing Massachusetts to wince.

"And with that, I bid you farewell, Illinois."

"What? No way!" Illinois cried. "I need a place to hide for a few days!"

"Well, here is my reply."

Massachusetts shot down the Banshee as it approached, but at the last moment Illinois replayed an old trick, jumping from the Banshee and landing back on the Hornet. The Freelancer sighed. She would deal with Illinois when she returned back home.

* * *

"…So, there we are. Now, let me stay."

Massachusetts glared at Illinois. The damn Freelancer had given her no option, and she knew it. It turned out Illinois was an expert hacker, with skills to match Sigma. She didn't have the same speed as the A.I., but that was beside the point. She had hacked into Massachusetts' files and found her location. If Massachusetts didn't give her a place to stay, Illinois would hand her over to Command. If Massachusetts killed her, the automatic function of the armour was to send the said file to Command. Also, Illinois' old A.I. had put an automatic protection code over Illinois' files, meaning any files that existed or were made could not be tampered with by Sigma. Illinois didn't know where her A.I. had gone, or even what its name was. All she remembered was being attacked by the Meta, and the next thing she knew she was in Downing's home.

"He offered me a job and I took it," Illinois said when Massachusetts asked her. "I needed security, and he gave me it. However, after a while he lost interest in me. It turns out he'd found a better and more efficient Freelancer – you. He stuffed me in those damn cells and said he would deal with me later. Then you came and set me free."

Massachusetts sighed.

"Fine, you can stay. But we warned, the first opportunity that I get, you will pay."

"I'll survive, I'm sure," Illinois said, shrugging. She removed her helmet and sauntered off into the kitchen, rooting through the fridge. Massachusetts clenched her teeth in anger, but said nothing.

"Maybe it's time you got some company, Massa," Sigma said, appearing on the interface beside her. "I mean, computerised company for years on end can't be good for you."

"I don't give one," Massachusetts growled irritably. "I work alone and I live alone. That's how it's always been, and that's how it will always be. End of."

"Then," Sigma said, grinning, "It looks like we need to get rid of her."

* * *

Dinner that evening was a strange experience for Massachusetts. After much debate, she finally took off her armour, patched up the bullet wound in her side, and changed into ordinary clothes. She even lent some to Illinois, surprising herself. They talked for a while, and Massachusetts found herself warming up to the Freelancer, although the fury of being blackmailed into extra company still burned beneath the surface. They chatted and laughed; spoke of the old days before the A.I. implantation. Illinois had gotten quite intimate with one of the other Freelancers over the years, it seemed.

"…And Missouri and I married last year," she said, smiling. Massachusetts nodded, suddenly reminded of York. She looked away for a moment, and then asked a question.

"Where was he when the Meta attacked you?"

"Well," Illinois replied, "He got a call from Command. They said they'd leave us alone if he did a little job for them – Recovery, I think he said it was. About a week after he left, the Meta found me. The Meta usually doesn't leave its targets alive, so I'm probably presumed dead. As soon as things die down, I'm going to find Missouri again."

"Why do you call him by his agent name if you're married?"

"Habit, I guess. So, what about you and York? Are you two still together since you escaped Command?

"…York's dead."

"Oh, I'm sorry. It must be hard losing a loved one," Illinois said sympathetically. Massachusetts stood up abruptly.

"I don't want to talk about it," she replied bluntly, before walking away into her room. Illinois watched her go, and then turned back towards the T.V. There was a News report on about Downing and Larson's murder. Apparently all security footage had been destroyed, so the police had no leads. Illinois guessed Massachusetts' A.I. had been at work in the computer system, and she smiled to herself, before turning the T.V. off. She stretched and yawned, tiredness washing over her, and then pulled the blanket Massachusetts had given her over her shoulder, snuggling down onto the sofa. Within minutes she was asleep.

* * *

Massachusetts twisted and turned in her sleep, strange images of torture and pain flickering through her mind. They felt almost like memories. She awoke to her body aching, her chest heaving, her head incredibly sore. Sigma looked at her from the bedside interface.

"It seems you picked up on the things I saw in Wash's head," she said quietly. Massachusetts stared.

"How?"

"We share a mind, Massa. It's not that hard."

"Wash sees that everyday?"

"No. It's the memory of his A.I.; images that his A.I. sent through his mind as it unravelled and destroyed itself."

Massachusetts got up and walked back into the main area of her home, watching Illinois asleep on the sofa.

"You're lonely, aren't you?" Sigma asked her. Massachusetts shook her head stoutly.

"No, I'm not. I have you. I'm getting rid of her as soon as possible."

Then Massachusetts suddenly noticed a flickering red light on her security system. The cameras and scanners indicated an intruder, but the turrets hadn't fired at anything. The Meta suddenly flew past the camera.

"Shit!" the Freelancer yelled, waking Illinois up.

"What, what is it?" she called over to Massachusetts.

"The Meta; it's found us! Get your armour on because we're in for one hell of a fight!"

* * *

The Meta stalked silently through the building, searching for the traces of the A.I. Sigma. A noise in the corner of the room made it turn sharply. Massachusetts shot out form behind a pillar, gravity hammer in hand. She swung out with it, missing by inches as the Meta jumped back, and promptly smashed through a wall.

"Now, Illinois!" she yelled, and the other Freelancer jumped up from behind the Meta, opening fire. The enemy quickly ran across the complex, firing with a brute shot, sections of the ceiling and walls falling down with it. Massachusetts groaned, knowing the cost to repair it all was going to have her working non-stop for a year when this was over.

"You cock sucker!" she shrieked, her temper getting the better of her, and charged down the hall towards it, gravity hammer raised. The Meta switched to its pistol and hastily shot at her, its aim off, but still managing to hit her in her already wounded side. Massachusetts staggered and fell over, crying out in pain as she did, and watched the hammer bounce away, leaving huge dents in the floor. The Meta stepped towards her, a strange rattling noise in the back of its throat, when Illinois opened fire at it, driving it into cover. Quickly Illinois ran over to Massachusetts and helped her up, letting her lean heavily against the wall to support herself, keeping guard whilst she did.

"If I support you, we only have a slight chance to get away. The odds aren't good, but it's all we have. However, if one of us can give a permanent distraction, we might make it."

"Won't I just slow you down?" Massachusetts grunted, her side feeling like it was on fire.

"I don't leave people behind, Massa," Illinois said, not looking behind her. If she had, she would have noticed that Massachusetts had a gun pointed to her head. There was a bang, and Illinois fell forward, a small hole in the back of her helmet. She was dead.

"You would have been better off if you had," she said quietly, as Sigma appeared in her visor.

"You killed your only ally?" she said, a look of wonder on her face.

"It's a distraction for the Meta," she mumbled, so the lurking Meta wouldn't hear her. "If it goes to harvest her A.I., I can get out with you. And anyway, I warned Illinois. I told her to leave me be. She ignored me; she blackmailed me, and so she paid the price."

The Meta came out of its hiding place, its head cocked to the side.

"Meta," she said clearly, "you want an A.I.? Here's your A.I. Take Illinois' while you can; come after me later."

The Meta slowly approached the dead Freelancer on the floor, but then stopped as if it was listening to someone. Then it growled deeply and ran at Massachusetts. Faster than thought, she threw herself to the floor, sliding along to the gravity hammer, jolting her wound as she went. As she took hold of her weapon and turned to face her enemy, the Meta kicked it out of her hands. It flew up and hit the ceiling so that it collapsed. The Meta moved out of the way in time, but Massachusetts could only watch as rubble crashed down onto her, pinning her arms, legs, and body onto the floor. The Meta shifted a small amount of rock off her so that it could access her A.I. and enhancement slot, and began taking the circuits apart. Sigma watched Massachusetts sadly while it happened.

"Do something, Sig!" she cried desperately, squirming under the weight that was crushing her body, but Sigma merely shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Massa," she said, smiling bitterly at her Freelancer. Then her image flickered and disappeared. The Meta had her A.I.

"Give her back, you bastard!" Massachusetts screamed frantically, struggling to free her body but failing. The Meta walked a few feet away from Massachusetts, and then crouched down, planting something. When it had finished, it ran, and the Freelancer realised what it that had been set.

A timed bomb.

It was going to bring down the entire base on her.

"Oh shi-" Massachusetts began, but was cut off as it exploded.

Her world went black.

* * *

"_Massa? Shit, hold on, Massa. I'll get you out of here."_

_Grabbing hands, scraping of rubble, pulling, tugging, freeing. Leave me be. I'm dead; I just want peace._

_Peace from these memories._

"_Nearly there, Massa. Shit,__** shit,**__ you're a mess…."_

_Hauling, dragging, fire, pain._

"_We're gonna get the hell out of here, and then I'm gonna fix you up, OK?"_

_Car doors slam, helmet removed, bright light, burning, bright light._

Massachusetts groaned and squinted, opening her eyes slowly. The person helping her turned to face her, their face hidden by their own Spartan helmet.

"Massa? Can you hear me?"

Massachusetts knew that voice anywhere.

"…Tex?" she croaked, stunned.


	9. Headshots, Photographs, and Charming

_**Spoiler Alert!**_

_A few Reconstruction spoilers in here. Go watch the damn series, already!_

_Black-Hat Jack: There is a message for you in my Author's Notes._

* * *

**Headshots, Photographs, and Charming Explosions**

"...And now Sig is gone," Massachusetts said flatly, staring out onto the horizon, shivering, missing her armour. "I'm going to hunt the Meta down until I get her back. That fucker is going to die."

"I wouldn't risk it, E-" Tex began, but Massachusetts interrupted her.

"Don't call me that. It's Massachusetts, Massa, or nothing."

Tex sighed, but decided it would be better to do as she said.

"Fine, _Massa_. Either way, the Meta has several A.I. now. Even if you had your own back, you can't outgun or outwit it. It's way more advanced than you are, and it has all the dead Freelancers' enhancements as well."

"Yeah, I noticed mine was gone when you woke me up."

"What was yours?"

"Enhanced speed. That's how I escaped the first time I encounter it. My reactions were quicker, Nevada."

"Why do you keep calling me Nevada?" Tex asked, staring. Massachusetts shrugged.

"It's your Agent name, so I call you by it."

"I prefer Agent Texas."

"I don't give a damn what you prefer. And anyway, what happened to Ali?"

"You know we all got rid of our real names when the A.I.s were implanted; when we got our Agent names. I abandoned Nevada when I left Command though," Tex said, scowling slightly. Massachusetts laughed bitterly.

"You never used your Agent name to begin with, _O'Malley_."

"I got rid of Omega too."

"Yeah, I know. I went to Omega's base... I saw the security tapes. I found York. Tell me, why did he help you? You ruined him. You ruined us."

Tex was silent for a moment, looking at the floor.

"Do you think it was my fault he died?" she said finally, her voice quiet.

"No," Massachusetts snapped back quickly, "No. I just want to know how you of all people managed to persuade him to assist you."

"I don't know," Tex shrugged. "I merely asked him and he agreed. Maybe he wanted revenge on Omega... he said as much. Or maybe he'd worked all the bitterness out of his system over the years. Pity you can't do the same."

"I'll never forgive you, Tex," Massachusetts spat, scowling at her, before realising her mistake. She had called Tex by her nickname.

"Would you kill me for it?" Tex asked suddenly. Massachusetts nodded.

"Given the chance, yes. Yes, I would."

Tex turned to the pistol at her side, removed it from its holster, and then passed it to Massachusetts, before sitting back against a rock and folding her arms, looking away from the Freelancer sat opposite from her. Massachusetts looked at the gun in her hand, and then put it straight against Tex's head, her face twisted in hatred.

"I lied, Tex," she hissed, her eyes beginning to fill with tears, "it was your fault. You hurt his eye; put him in danger by asking for help, even though you knew he wasn't capable. You're the reason he didn't see Wyoming on his bad left side. He's dead because of _you_, Tex!"

Oh her last sentence she banged the barrel of the gun hard against Tex's helmet, her lips pulled up into a slight snarl. Tex sat still for a while, silent. Then she suddenly laughed.

"Yet, despite all this, I'm still alive. You know what, Massa? I think no matter what I do, you wouldn't have the guts to shoot me. You can't kill an old friend-"

A crack echoed across the empty plains and Tex jarred, falling sideways and hitting the floor, unmoving. Massachusetts stared at the body in front of her, shaking slightly. Then her face broke out into a stunned smile, the tears finally cascading down from her eyes. She dropped the gun absent-mindedly, barely noticing the thud as it hit the floor, and leant back against her own rock, breathing deeply.

"Well, that was a surprise," Tex said suddenly, appearing by Massachusetts' side. Massachusetts yelled in shock and scrabbled for the gun, shooting frantically at the faded version of Tex.

"You can't kill a ghost, dumbass."

"A-a ghost?" Massachusetts stammered, her grip on the pistol so tight her knuckles had gone white. "Ghosts don't exist!"

"Look, I was called over to Blood Gulch to help the Blue team get rid of the Reds. Turns out Church was killed by one of his team members and needed replacing. When I got there I found he was a ghost. Anyway, one way or another, a pink son of a bitch on the opposite team stuck a grenade to me and killed me. Now, here I am. This body is a custom-made robot that I can possess at will. When it receives damage that would kill a normal person, though, I'm forced out."

"There is... no way-" Massachusetts began, but Tex cut across her impatiently.

"Look, just face it, I'm already dead. Sorry, but someone got there before you. And, because I told you to, I'll let that shot slip."

Tex's ghost returned to her armour, and she sat up again, inspecting the bullet hole in her helmet.

"God damn it, I'm going to have to repair that before something leaks... anyway, your armour is totally screwed," Tex said, indicating to the pile of twisted metal dumped by the Warthog. "We're gonna have to go back to your base and see what we can salvage."

Massachusetts suddenly realised something and jumped up, running over to her old suit, inspecting the area where the A.I. slot was. She pulled a chip of it and sighed, the signs of panic leaving her face.

"What's that?" Tex asked, suspicious.

"Something I took from York's armour before I went," she replied, but refused to speak anymore on the subject. "Let's go."

* * *

Massachusetts picked her way through the charred remains of the base, horrified. What little that hadn't collapsed was black and on the verge of crumbling. They wouldn't have long to get equipment before the whole place became buried. She left Tex to shift rocks to what used to be the weapons locker and went down the hallway to her bedroom. Most of it was intact, which was lucky for her, as it probably meant what she was looking for had survived the explosion. She spent ten minutes hauling rock off the area where her bedside cabinet was before she found it. Carefully, she dislodged the dented picture frame, shaking the broken glass away and removing the photo inside. It was one of her most treasured possessions.

"What are you doing? This whole structure could go at any moment," Tex said, walking into the room. Then she noticed the photo in Massachusetts' hands.

"What's that?"

Massachusetts held it up for Tex to see clearly, and Tex stopped dead in her tracks.

"...That's us the day we got our Agent names... you, me, and York. You kept it all this time?"

Massachusetts looked down at the creased picture and nodded slowly. She was in the middle, a wide smile on her face, laughing at a joke the person taking the picture had said. Tex was to her right, her usual superior smirk at the camera, her eyes cold and distant, arms folded, gun loose in hand. York was to Massachusetts' left, his arm around her waist, his head tilted to one side, his mouth a cheeky grin.

"...How could I get rid of it? This was our last moment together before we got the A.I. It's a moment I want to keep with me."

Tex snorted at Massachusetts' sentiment, but didn't comment on it.

"I can't even remember who took the damn picture. Come on, we need to get you sorted before Command follow that message Illinois sent out."

"How do you know about that?" Massachusetts said sharply, looking up at Tex.

"Everyone got it, I think. I was on my way back to Blood Gulch when it beeped up on my interface. I wasn't going to go until I saw the explosion in the distance," Tex replied, before turning to leave the room. Then she paused and looked back.

"I saw Illinois' body in the rubble. You always were good a headshot, Massa. I just hope you never get the fucking sniper rifle."

Massachusetts said nothing, but watched Tex go, before looking back down at the photograph. She remembered who took the picture. Did Wyoming know that, in just a few years, he'd attempt to kill two of the people in the picture, succeeding with one of them? Massachusetts sighed, pocketed the photograph, and then followed Tex to show her where she kept her secret supply of equipment. Walking past Tex, she signalled for the Freelancer to follow her, leading her to a wall with a heat dial on it. Massachusetts moved the heat dial down and then left, and the wall on the opposite side of the room slid open effortlessly.

"Welcome to my original armour," Massachusetts said, taking Tex into the room. In a glass case was silver-grey armour with blue shoulder plates and a blue stripe along the middle of the Spartan Mark VI. It originally had been Spartan Mark V, but Massachusetts managed to upgrade hers before she left Command, unlike Tex, who hadn't bothered. Tex waited outside while Massachusetts fitted herself into her old armour, and picked up the weapons and items of the racks. Shotgun, battle rifle, pistol, assault rifle, rocket launcher, Spartan laser, SMGs, grenades; it was a hell of a lot to carry. Hopefully there would be a spare Warthog for her to use so she could dump all this stuff in. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the sword. Making sure Tex wasn't looking, she picked it up with difficulty and hid it under the other weapons, out of sight.

"Hey, what's that," Tex said, making Massachusetts jump. Tex walked past her and unearthed the gravity hammer from the rubble.

"That's _my_ weapon," Massachusetts said ferociously, and Tex shrugged. "It looks too clunky for my tastes. Where are you taking all this shit anyway?"

"If the garage hasn't collapsed, there should be Warthog and two Hornets in there. I'm going to load one of them up."

When Massachusetts reached the garage, she found the aircrafts had been crushed by falling ceiling. The Warthog remained in perfect condition, however, and so Massachusetts put all her equipment in the back. When Tex went to throw the hammer in, though, Massachusetts yelled for her to stop, and carefully took it from her, before strapping it firmly to the Warthog floor. One jolt could send her vehicle flying. When Tex asked why she was treating it like it was glass, Massachusetts told her it was a delicate thing. She didn't need Tex stealing it because she thought it was powerful.

"Get in, Tex," Massachusetts said, jumping into the driver's seat of the Warthog and starting it up.

"Why?" Tex said suspiciously, wondering why Massachusetts was getting in the vehicle when they were inside.

"We're leaving in _style_."

Tex paused, and then decided it would probably be better for her own safety if she did, and got in.

Massachusetts was unpredictable like that.

Suddenly, the Warthog sharply reversed and spun right around to face a solid stone wall.

"Massa," Tex said loudly, clinging to the sides of the car in surprise, "what are you gonna do?"

Massachusetts stood up in her seat, three lethal spiker grenades clustered together in each hand.

"Getting outside," she replied simply, and threw the grenades so that they hit the wall. She then slid into her seat and gunned the Warthog up. Tex realised what was about to happen.

"Massa, if you time this wrong, we're either gonna crash, get blown up, or crushed!"

"We won't."

Massachusetts put her foot down on the pedal, and the Warthog shot forward just as the grenades exploded, blasting the wall outwards. The Warthog made it through the gap just before it closed behind them, and then proceeded to weave about as large pieces of rubble cascaded down around them. A particularly huge chunk landed straight in front of them, and Massachusetts had to swerve violently to avoid it, nearly turning the vehicle over as she did. When they were finally out of range and everything had settled down, Tex spoke.

"Massa, you are fucking crazy," she said, still clutching tightly at the Warthog. Massachusetts laughed.

"Part of my charm, Tex," she replied, before turning the Warthog around and driving to the direction of Tex's.

* * *

The Mongoose stopped short of the ruined base, its rumbling engine dying down low. The Recovery Beacon beeped repeatedly, indicating that there was a fallen Agent nearby. The thing that shocked this Recovery Agent most was that three Agents' beacons had gone off in the last few days. Washington was dealing with York's, and now two had sprung up in the same area. Command wouldn't tell him who one of them was, only that it was urgent he got there immediately. The other was Agent Massachusetts, a Spartan who had made a good life for herself outside Command – the best life out of all the Freelancers. She was paid to do what she did best: be a heartless, murdering bitch. At first, all her work was legal, from what he heard, but then she fell in with crime. He had to admit, crime did pay better than what the authority could offer, as they got their money easily, and so could afford to splash out. Some of the things she has done were... inhuman. He shuddered and made his way into the hidden structure that had once been Agent Massachusetts' sanctuary. When he got inside, he whistled in appreciation. Despite the fact it was destroyed, he knew it would have once been a luxurious place to live. He wished Recovery paid enough to live like this, but he had no choice. It was either this or be on the run, and as he had refused an A.I. when offered one, he wouldn't have lasted five minutes against an Agent armed with a program. The only reason he was on the run anyway was because of his wife, who had her own A.I. She was presumed dead after the Meta attacked her shortly after he left for Recovery work, but he knew better. She was a smart and capable woman. She would have gotten away.

As the Recovery Agent came into the main living area, he saw the source of the beacon and his blood ran cold. The lifeless Freelancer clad in golden-yellow armour on the floor... it couldn't be...?

"Illinois?" he whispered, unable to move. Then he shouted her name again, before running to her. "Illinois!"

Falling to his knees from his sprint, he lifted her limp body up, inspecting the bullet hole in the helmet and groaning, horrified, before wrestling her helmet. He stroked her beautiful face, cold and pale, wincing at the blood and pieces of bone all down her skin, an ugly wound in her forehead.

"Lydia..." Missouri mumbled, placing her head against his helmet, heartbroken. Then the huge explosion outside made him jump.

"Massachusetts," he said quietly, lowering his wife's body on the floor and closing her eyes, before standing up and running to the source of the noise.

* * *

Massachusetts watched Tex drive away into the distance, her feelings mixed up. She felt a sense of loss to watch the person who used to be her friend, go, yet at the same time, was glad to see the back of her.

"Sig, patch a scan throu-" she began, and then realised she was alone.

Alone.

Massachusetts hadn't been alone in many years. What a strange thing it was to experience it again.

"Alone," she said aloud to herself, and then tapped into her manual scanner, before realising it only read the area about her. How the hell was she going to find the Meta if she didn't know where to look? Suddenly a beam of plasmid bounced off her vehicle, and Massachusetts threw herself to the floor instinctively, pulling her pistol from its holster as she did. Then a voice called out to her, sharp and stinging.

"Massachusetts," it yelled, "show yourself!"

"Sig, find the identity of hosti-oh, fuck..." Massachusetts began and then cursed. Had she become so dependent on her A.I.? Sighing and shaking her head, she warily peered over the door of the Warthog to her attacker. It was a Spartan in sage armour, pointing a brightly coloured weapon at her, which she recognised to be of Covenant design.

"What the fuck do you want, cockbite?" she bellowed, in no mood for being shot at. She turned and picked up one of the weapons in the seat of the Warthog, eager for some payback. The Spartan paused, apparently taken aback by her blunt approach.

"This is Recovery Agent Missouri," Missouri shouted to her, "and that was a warning shot. I wish to speak to you."

"Yeah?" Massachusetts replied, standing up on the seat of her vehicle, the charged Spartan laser in hand, "well this is my motherfucking response!"

Missouri threw himself out of the way as the laser blast roared towards him, missing him by inches. He landed awkwardly, but managed to roll up again, and stared at the black scorch mark that continued on right through the cliffs that concealed Massachusetts' old base and over onto the horizon.

"Now," Massachusetts continued, dropping the laser and taking up the battle rifle instead, "shall we continue this conversation civilly, or are we going share warning shots until one of us dies?"

Missouri held up his hands to show he agreed with the first option, and then walked over to the other Freelancer. When he was close enough to talk to without shouting, Massachusetts let rip.

"What the hell were you doing, shooting at me? I've just been attacked by the Meta, Mr. Fucking Recovery Agent, _Sir_! You could have been the Meta for all I knew!"

"So, it was the Meta," Missouri said quietly. Massachusetts stared.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"I was sent to your base to follow your Recovery Beacons. I found Illinois there, but I know your history, Massachusetts. I wasn't sure if it was you or the Meta. I couldn't find your body, so I assumed it was you, which is why I fired the warning the shot."

_Shit,_ Massachusetts thought. She could take Missouri down easily if he attacked her, but that could invoke Command to tracking her down more vigorously than before. Best not to let him know she had killed his wife.

"I'm so sorry," Massachusetts said, forcing a tone of sympathy into her voice. "I know what it's like to lose... someone. She spoke of you, you know."

"How did you find her?" Missouri asked, his voice strained.

"I killed Robert Downing after he tried to double-cross me. There were some difficulties, and I found her locked up in his basement. She'd been working with him for time, but eventually he betrayed her as well. She helped me escape, so I let her stay at my base until things died down. However, the Meta attacked that night. It shot me... Illinois tried to help me, so it shot her. Then it took my A.I. and left. Luckily, for me, Agent Nevada was close by. She patched me up and helped me salvage equipment. She has her own business to deal with elsewhere, though, and left shortly before you shot at me."

Agent Missouri said nothing for a while, and then slowly sank to the floor, putting his head in his hands.

"She always put others first," he mumbled. "Stupid, _stupid_ woman! I swear it, I'm going to hunt the Meta down myself and kill him!"

"Him?"

"Agent Maine is the Meta."

Massachusetts stared. An Agent was the Meta? Well, that was certainly news, but, in a way, it made sense. His A.I. must have persuaded him to start harvesting others, the same way Sig had tried, and failed, to persuade her. Suddenly, she had an idea. She could manipulate the idiot into helping her, making him believe she was helping him...

"You're Recovery, right?" she asked, innocently. Missouri nodded mutedly.

"Was," he growled, and went to destroy the Recovery equipment on his armour. Massachusetts grabbed his hand and stopped him.

"No, don't do that!"

"Why not? I was only doing this to protect Lydia. Now, she's dead. I have no ties with Command."

"Because, as a Recovery Agent, you can use it to track Freelancers!"

"So?"

"So, we can locate Agent Maine and kick his ass!"

Missouri stood up abruptly, staring at Massachusetts.

"You're right!" he whispered. "But... we?"

"The asshole has my A.I.," Massachusetts said darkly, "and I want it back. So, if you're going after the Meta for revenge, I'm sure as hell going to help you. I like Illinois as well. She tried to save me... she died trying."

Missouri nodded, before reloading his Covenant weapon and shouldering it.

"Right, Massachusetts," he said, "where do we start?"

"Well, first you get your ass in the Warthog. Secondly, you hook up your Recovery shit to the A.I. interface, that way we can both see it. Welcome aboard... partner."

_

* * *

_

Author's Notes: Something I forgot to mention. Illinois and Missouri were created by Silent Memento in name and colour. Mem made part of Missouri's personality, but I made all Illinois'. I also made their back-stories, with the exception of them being married (Mem's). Finally, all events that occur with them or have done (leaping onto Banshees FTW) are my own ideas and no one else's. There is a small idea regarding Missouri that Mem gave me, but I have expanded on it and made it my own. I will inform you when it makes its appearance.

_Mem personally asked me could I put these characters in my story, not the other way around. I agreed because he is my friend._

_**Black-Hat Jack:**__ I will have to consider your offer. Send me a profile of your Agent through PM, as I wish to remain strictly canon in this fic. If your Freelancer matches the original RvB story, and I can find a way to fit him effortlessly into A.I., then he will make an appearance. Be warned, though, I am a very patriotic Brit, so if your British A.I. is too stereotypical, I won't put him in (XD)._

_Lei._


	10. AI LOG – REPORT SEVENTEEN – YORK

**A.I. LOG – REPORT SEVENTEEN – YORK**

Delta likes me to record these things much, being the logical program that he is. I hate them. Every time we do something, no matter what it is, I have to log it in his files. Then again, I think I should just put up with Delta's quirks – he's gotten me out of a lot of tight situations in the past.

The past... hmm. I usually don't think about 'the past', because the memories I have aren't all that sweet. I was drafted into the Freelancer project at the last minute, as one of the current selected died. Training accident, I believe. My first day was painful, to say the least. I was hit in the face with a tray by a girl, retaliated by hitting her back, and was then attacked by the person I was trying to defend. My broken nose and two black eyes took a long time to heal, let me tell you. Of course, I never expected to fall in love with the girl who gave me those damn bruises. Or become good friends with the one who broke my nose; but, hey, that's life.

Massa and Tex both got punished for starting that little riot in the canteen, although it was probably more to do with the orange that was thrown at the back of the Commander's head. Hell, it _was_ funny, but perhaps a little too far. Then Massa was busted for smoking. Tex approached me later that night after I came out of the infirmary, offering to break my nose again if I didn't get the cigarettes back. God knows why I accepted that bet to flirt with her. Wyoming dared me twenty bucks that I wouldn't have the nerve, and me, being the new guy, didn't realise what I was getting myself into. I did get that twenty bucks in the end, though. I had to break into Wyoming's room ad steal it from his locker to get it, but hey, he owed me. Anyway, I got the cigarettes, and suddenly Massa was all over me. It annoyed me at first – the bitch had given me black eyes, but when she needed my help, she wouldn't leave me alone. She paid well, but that was beside the point. It still irritated me. Then we started talking a bit every time she came to see me, and I found her funny, if slightly blunt. However, I realised over time that the bluntness was just because she did nothing but speak her mind. She was honest, regardless of feelings, and I began to respect her.

Tex was a different matter. When Massa and I finally formed a friendship of sorts and I sat with them at meals, Tex constantly glared at me. Anything I said, she contradicted. Eventually I lost my temper and asked her what her goddamned problem was. Her response was to inform me that I was a cockbite, and that nothing I did would ever impress her.

Ha. By god, did I prove her wrong.

The Commander, which Massa had named 'Dickhead', had his own login system on the base's network. Many a person would have loved to hack into his account and fuck things up for him, so, I did exactly that. I got into his office, forced open his desk, and found the password to his account. I then sent an encrypted message around the recruits' network, auctioning it out. I encrypted it so that our Commanders wouldn't spot my message in the system, if you were wondering. Tex started talking about it quietly to Massa during dinners, trying to exclude me from the conversation, and I just sat there silently, an annoying and all-knowing smirk on my face. It used to drive Tex insane. On the very last day of the auction, in which there was a nice sum building up for it, I cancelled it. Then I went to Tex and presented her with the password for free, as she had been one of the avid bidders. She had stared at me in shock, and I bowed my head slightly, before swaggering away all superior-like.

The next day, all the interfaces across the base held a picture of the Commander on them, with the slogan 'Commander Dickhead' underneath. Apparently, Massa had helped with the creation of it. The fantastic thing was that Tex changed the password for the account, meaning the picture was stuck like that for two months before Command decided to reset the entire system. All the passwords were changed through randomisation, and everyone had to relearn their own. After my little stunt, though, Tex stopped being such a bitch with me. By the time the new passwords were issued, we were friends. Me, Massa, Tex; we remained in our trio right up until we got our Agent names. That's when everything changed.

Tex made Massa change from being a semi fighter to a full time one, but she never bothered with me. That was lucky, because when we went on missions together, our fields of expertise covered all the problems we encountered. I could get us through any system, Tex and Massa could gun their way through any enemy, and Massa could fix our equipment and vehicles when needed, thanks to her partial technician training. She could also give medical treatment as well, which proved to be a lifesaver in many a situation. However, sometimes Tex's brutality took us both by surprise. We did an international drugs raid, taking out the dealers no problem. Tex and Massa went down into the basement to check it out, and I stood guard. I thought I heard gunfire, but it could have been anywhere in the complex, so I stayed where I was. Tex was the first to come back out, her armour splattered with blood. She nodded to me and then sauntered away to investigate the rest of the building. I became worried at this point and went down the stairs to check on Massa. She was just stood there in the dark, staring at piles of bodies all around her, her gun loose in her hands.

"Massa?" I has said to her softly, stunned at the destruction and death contained in that one room. She merely shook her head and walked away quickly, staring at the floor, pushing past me to get out. I stood there for a few moments, and then followed Massa out.

Later that night, there was a knock at my door. As I was a late recruit, I had a room to myself, which earned me quite a bit of resentment from the other Freelancers. However, in this situation, it proved a good thing. It was one in the morning, and if I'd had a roommate, they'd have been a bit pissed off. With difficulty, I'd gotten out of the bed and staggered to the door, opening it moodily. I was surprised to find Massa standing there.

"Massa, what are you doing here? It's one in the morning-" I stopped abruptly when, as she moved slightly, the light catching her face, I realised that she had been crying. I quickly beckoned her in, as men and women were not supposed to be in each other's rooms. I flicked the light switch on, blinding us both, and she squinted, stumbling slightly.

"Turn it off," she mumbled, rubbing her puffy, red eyes. I did as she ordered and she sat on my bed, straightening the sheets. I felt a bit embarrassed, to be honest, as I was only in a pair of grey, regulation 'night-trousers', as Command called them. The matching grey, short-sleeve shirt was probably stuffed somewhere in a corner of the room, but it was too dark to see it. Massa wore the full grey regulation outfit, obviously. It would have been a bit revealing if she hadn't.

"What's wrong?" I'd said, sitting down next to her. Massa didn't reply at first, but instead scrunched the sheets in her fists. The lights from outside shined through my barred window, highlighting her gaunt and pale face, her hair falling slightly over her eyes. I felt a strange sensation through my stomach, something I hadn't experienced before, and squirmed uncomfortably. I'd never really _looked_ at Massa before. Oh, sure, I'd seen her every day, but there's a difference between seeing and looking.... I found myself thinking she was quite pretty. However, I pushed those thoughts out waited for her to explain why she was here. It took a few minutes of silence, but then it all came tumbling out. She and Tex had been attacked while in that basement. Tex opened fire; Massa did the same in panic, and now she couldn't thinking about it, the guilt 'tearing her up inside'. About halfway through, she starting crying again and it startled me. It was real sobs, as if she was grieving for them, and I found myself moving closer and putting my arm around her. I meant it in a comforting way, I guess, but at the same time, I felt a little thrill run through me as I did. I leant back against the wall and let her cry into my chest for some time, feeling quite happy with myself, although it hurt to see her so distressed, wondering at the same time what had changed my opinion of her. One minute I had seen her as a friend, the next I was thinking her 'pretty' and holding onto her, enjoying it. She calmed down after a while, and we sat in the dark, saying nothing.

"Can I stay here tonight?" she asked me suddenly. What could I have said – No?

I nodded and stood up, going to the cupboard to get some sheets so I could sleep on the floor, but she caught my arm as I was laying them down. I looked up at her, confused, and she shook her head at me, before tugging me back towards the bed. I ended up with her snuggled right up to me, my arm around her once more. I'll be honest with you now; I felt incredibly awkward, but I didn't say anything. It was lucky that it was dark, as my cheeks burned red. Thankfully, she fell asleep fairly quickly, and I relaxed, looking at her sweet face, all the harshness that was there when she was awake gone. Slowly, I raised a hand and touched her soft cheek, the flipping sensation coming back to my stomach. Then realisation hit me, and I put my hand to my head, groaning.

I'd fallen for her.

Big time.

Of course, I didn't tell her. Seriously, she was this fantastic, funny, beautiful girl, and I was... me. New Boy. I'm nothing special. My resolve to keep it a secret finally tripped up on graduation day, though. Wyoming was taking a picture for Massa of her, Tex, and me. At the last minute, I put my head on her shoulder and my arm around her waist. After the picture had been taken, she turned and stared at me, her expression confused. I went bright red and mumbled any old excuse, before walking away.

Later on though, she knocked on my door again. I'd been sulking in there, feeling like a complete idiot, so I wasn't really in the mood for visitors. I said nothing, not making a move for the door, but Massa knew me too well.

"Stop pretending you're not there, dumbass. Let me in. We need to talk."

"I don't want to," I grumbled back, still not moving.

"I'll kick down the door if you don't," she replied. Well, I knew she would do it, so I sighed heavily and trudged over to the door, letting her in.

"Why did you put your arm around me, NB?" she asked instantly. I scratched my head and said nothing. She folded her arms and stared at me determinedly. I gave in pretty quickly.

"Spur of the moment, that's all," I muttered, not looking at her. Massa snorted, leaning back against the wall.

"I don't buy it. Even if it was 'spur of the moment', you're hiding something. What is-?"

She never did finish that sentence. It might have been because I strode across the room as she was speaking, took hold of her, and then kissed her.

Most likely.

But you know what the funny thing was?

She kissed me back.

When I pulled away from her, I looked her straight in the eye before speaking.

"You want to know what's up with me; why I put my arm around you, why I spend every waking moment with you? I love you. I fucking _love_ you."

Massa said nothing, but instead smiled, and then kissed me again.

Best moment of life, I can tell you.

Not that it lasted. Tex got her A.I. and changed dramatically. She challenged me to a fight and I accepted, even though Massa begged me not to. My left eye was ruined, and when I complained to Massa about it, she defended Tex, saying it wasn't her – it was her A.I. I knew she was right, and that's what made me angry. I stormed off and got a transfer, my goddamned pride destroying another precious part of my life yet again. It wasn't long before I realised my mistake and tried to undo it. By the time I got back to Command, though, she had gone. Deciding my A.I. would help me find her, I fled as well.

I was wrong though. I haven't been able to find her; no one has. It's as if she's disappeared completely. I have to live with that every day, knowing I threw it all away over nothing. So, when Tex came and asked for my help, I decided to be civil with her. Massa was right; it was the A.I. She's different from the old Tex back in training, but there is a glimmer of her still left there.

You know, Delta will not be happy. I was supposed to record the details of the mission in here, but instead I let out my life story... heh heh. I best add something quick.

Tomorrow we go down to Omega's base to take him out. I can't wait. It's a chance to finally get even with him for what he did to me.

It's time for some motherfucking revenge.

**A.I. LOG -TERMINATED-**


	11. Marriage, Anger, and Awesome Stunt Jumps

**Marriage, Anger, and Awesome Stunt Jumps**

Massachusetts opened her eyes as the last A.I. log playing from York's chip into her helmet finished. She sighed, and then rewound it to her favourite moment.

"_You want to know what's up with me; why I put my arm around you, why I spend every waking moment with you? I love you. I fucking __love__ you."_

Massachusetts stopped it and replayed it, repeatedly, listening to York's voice in her head continually. It was probably a sign that her sanity was questionable, but she didn't care. She remembered that moment well. She'd liked York long before the drug dealer incident, but she thought that he saw her as a friend only. Then, when he'd held in her in the photograph, she began to wonder, and decided that it was time to get it all out in the open. Massachusetts' lips twitched slightly as she heard herself threaten to break the door down if she wasn't let in. She would have done too, had he refused, but luckily for him, he did as she asked. However, York hadn't described the entire of the confession in the log, and rightly so, because it was… intimate. She cast her thoughts back to that wonderful moment: the kiss. When she had kissed him back the second time, he had picked her up and put her on his bed, gently undoing her shirt. He had always been so careful with her, as if she was a doll. Massachusetts had acted in the complete opposite manner, taking York by surprise.

It had been a fun night.

Massachusetts stopped the report as it went past that moment, and she blinked back the tears in her eyes, irritated with herself. She needed to be strong, not mope about all the time, weeping over things dead and gone. She had to think about the present, about Sigma. Her A.I. was the most important thing right now. The Freelancer removed her helmet briskly, rubbing her eyes with her armour plated hands as best as she could. Missouri looked up from the tree he was leaning against, supposedly trying to get some sleep.

"What is it, Massa?" he asked, looking her in the eye. At first Massachusetts had refused to take her helmet off in front of him, but then remember that she no longer had an A.I., and was not wanted by Command anymore. She was probably presumed dead anyway. Missouri had sent a confirmation to Recovery that it had been the Meta, and then subsequently quit his job, before cutting off the comm. to the woman speaking. The problem now was that Command would want the Recovery equipment of Missouri's back, which meant they had to be constantly on the move. Not that this bothered Massachusetts. She was used to it.

"I'm just… thinking," she replied, unwilling to share her own personal feelings with him. Missouri had been pretty much silent through the week they had been together. Tracking the Meta was hard, and just when they thought they had him in their grasp, he disappeared. Massachusetts would have thought Missouri to be more… depressed, what with his wife being brutally shot in head, but he always stayed expressionless and focused.

"Thinking about what?" Missouri persisted. Massachusetts shook her head, but he guessed anyway. "Is it Agent York you're worried about? I saw his beacon go off."

Massachusetts nodded mutedly, her face going tense. Missouri saw and tried to comfort her.

"I'm sure he's alright, Massa. It was probably just faulty equipment-"

"No, he's not."

"You don't know that."

"I do. I found him before Recovery got there. I watched him die."

"…I wondered what you meant when you said… when you said you knew what it was like to lose someone."

"Well, now you know," Massachusetts replied bluntly, turning the Warthog, checking the Recovery scanner that had tags on Maine. He had simply disappeared off the map, and she was sure it was one of the A.I.'s doing; Sigma, perhaps? Maybe he forced the A.I. to somehow do as he wished, although she did find it hard to imagine Sigma actually doing as she was told.

"Sorry; I shouldn't have pried," Missouri mumbled apologetically. Massachusetts turned to him and shook her head.

"It's OK. You didn't know. Now, let's see what we can do about our Meta problem," she replied, changing the subject swiftly. Missouri arched his eyebrows.

"I think we should be getting some sleep first. There is no way you can work and fight efficiently when you're tired."

"I'll manage. Now, come help me."

Missouri scowled and folded his arms; he hated being told what to do, which is mainly why he refused an A.I. Another voice in his head ordering him around? No thanks. Command weren't too happy that they'd trained him for years, only have him to jump out at the last minute, but when the rebelling came, they were mighty grateful for him. Well, they would have been, had he not skipped out on his duty of containing the fleeing Freelancers. He had heard Tex had broken out and was on the run. If he went after her, he'd end up dead. So, instead he pretended to be doing his duty, and then smuggled Illinois out with him, doing a runner alongside her. They married a few months afterwards in a quiet church somewhere in Maine, on pretty, snowy day. How ironic that the Agent of that state would ruin the happiness founded there several years later.

When Command realised he'd abandoned his post, they were furious, alerting the government about him. All standard issue UNSC weapons were banned from his possession, and if he was caught holding or being in possession of one, he would be shot on sight; no questions asked, no chance to explain himself. For Illinois' sake, he obeyed, knowing he put her at risk as well if he obtained one. They ditched all their equipment in an abandoned warehouse, which, as they saw on the news, was later discovered by a crime gang, using them to rob a bank. However, it meant they were forever moving, as they had no means of fighting back. Eventually the money began to run out, and finally, when Missouri and Illinois were backed into a corner with no escape route available to them, Command approached Missouri and offered him a job. If he refused, they would have been arrested and separated, the length of their sentence unlimited. He took it, left for work, and never saw his wife alive again. If he had waved away the opportunity to get back in Command's good books, would she still be here? Lydia... would she have survived, kept away from the Meta? He almost blamed himself for her death, yet at the same time, knew that as a life as a prisoner until death wasn't living at all. Lydia had been free for a short time, and that was what mattered...

Missouri felt his cold exterior begin to crack, the hate and anger that was brewing menacingly underneath threatening to spill out into the open. The intensity of all his emotions was so powerful and overwhelming, that Missouri was surprised with himself that he had lost it yet. All he wanted to do right now was scream, shout, hit, and kill. Perhaps even cry, but he knew his pride in front of Massachusetts wouldn't allow him to. He didn't respect anyone who couldn't prove themselves to him first, but he knew all about Massachusetts' deeds. Command never shut up about her, always broadcasting her crimes and assassinations across the network, always insisting they'd double their efforts to find her. Of course, they never did locate her. It was often said that a Freelancer paired with a 'smart' A.I. would be unstoppable. Sigma, with her abundance in creativity, was considered pretty damn close to the mark.

Yes, Massachusetts had been a force to be reckoned with. Whether she still was remained to be seen.

"I'm going to sleep, Massa," he growled, scowling at her. "I don't take orders from you, but if you want to become an easy target through self negligence, by my guest. With that said, he haughtily returned to his tree, sitting down against it and putting his helmet on, before lowering his head to his chest. Massachusetts glared angrily at him, but didn't argue. At the moment, she needed him more than he needed her, so, causing a fallout would not help serve her purpose. She gritted her teeth, containing her legendary foul temper, and turned back to the Warthog, flicking through the settings with determination. After a while, though, she began to see what Missouri meant. Her eyes kept drooping, her hands slipping every so often off the computerised interface, and she felt her body sway each time her concentration wavered. Finally, she gave in, admitting defeat.

"God damn it," she muttered quietly to herself so Missouri wouldn't hear her, "you win."

Massachusetts leant over the side of the car, picking her helmet up and putting it back on, before climbing into the driver's seat and attempting to get comfortable. Behind his visor, Missouri smiled to himself.

_

* * *

_

Light, pain, torture-

_Memory-_

_Memories-_

_Lies, deceit-_

_Creativity._

_An-_

_Anger, hate, sadness, hurt—_

_Hurt._

_Hur- hurt—Lo-_

_Love._

"Wake up."

Massachusetts yelled and sat up abruptly, pulling her pistol from the holster and pointing it at the person who had shaken her awake.

"Whoa, whoa!" Missouri said, leaning away from the gun barrel aimed directly at his head, hands out in front of him. "It's me, Massa!"

Massachusetts paused, breathing deeply and raggedly, before sighing in despair and dropping the gun, putting her hands to her face. She had glimpses of those images in her sleep since Sigma had left, but never an experience as vivid and frightening as that. What in the hell had A.I. Epsilon been doing to project such notions in Wash's head? Missouri slowly lowered his hands and looked at her curiously.

"Nightmare?" he asked, and she nodded mutedly, deciding she didn't need to share. Missouri shook his head though. "That must have been some hell of a nightmare. In fact, you were crying out in pain, thrashing about, kind of like when I was sent to detain Washington. What did you see?"

"There's no hiding anything from you, is there?" she said weakly, realising she'd have to spill. "Fine. Some time after I… I found York, I came across Wash. He suggested that he was going to turn me in, so I sent Sigma into his head to do some serious mind-fuck. He reacted… strangely, to say the least; like he was in agony. Anyway, when Sig came back she was different, almost as if she had suffered great stress. She looked older and more haggard, but she wouldn't tell me what she'd seen. Then, just before the Meta attacked, the images leaked into my head without her doing anything. She'd picked up and stored some of Wash's memories, and then accidently passed them onto me. Now, when I sleep, I see them."

"Is that the reason why you try to stay awake all night?" Missouri asked her, climbing into the passenger seat of the Warthog. Massachusetts shrugged.

"I've never really thought of it like that… but yeah, I guess so," she replied, retrieving her pistol of the floor and putting it back in its rightful place. She shrugged again, and then started up the vehicle, the low rumbling noise sounding like an agitated beast. She put her foot down on the pedal, swerving at high speed and narrowly missing a tree. Missouri, who had despaired at her driving skills at first, was now used to them, and didn't even notice as the wing mirror of the car cracked against the bark and flew over his head, landing in the back seat behind him.

* * *

Several hours later, after following an automatic tracking device, the landscape grew barren, the temperature dropped abruptly, and a mountain range loomed overhead.

"The Meta is on the move again," he said, bringing up a holographic map with a small dot to indicate their target. "It seems he's moving north, to the colder regions. I know a few Freelancers holed up there, hoping Command wouldn't be stupid enough to send their men into such harsh conditions. They right, in any case, and now have some sort of camp or base set up in the mountains. I don't know how the Meta thinks he can take them all on at once-"

"He managed to get past my high security defences, which were manned and created by my own A.I. Because he has more than one, he has the advantage," Massachusetts said, echoing Tex. "If had has the right combination of A.I., then he will be unstoppable. For example, say he managed to get hold of Delta, the logical one, and paired him with Sig, who is quite creative; he'd find a way past their guns easily."

Missouri nodded. When they eventually reached the base of the mountain range and began to drive up the narrow paths, he gave her the best and safest route to the north. Massachusetts shook her head in disapproval.

"That'll take too long. If we can patch a message through to those Freelancers and warn them, they might be able to hold the Meta. Even if we did that, though, he'll be long gone by the time we get there. Sigma and I have been through here before on one of our earlier missions. I know a shortcut."

"Massa, if we take a 'shortcut', we could easily get lost. We'll _lose_ the Meta. It's best if we follow regulation directions-"

"Oh, stop being so boring," she said, and cranked up the speed, the tyres sliding dangerously on patches on ice and snow. Missouri turned to stop her, but she simply pressed a button on the dashboard, and his seat reacted immediately, clamping him in.

"A little something I added for targets that needed to stay alive for my employer," she said happily, grinning as Missouri squirmed frantically in his seat.

"You go this speed through the route you're suggesting, you're going to get us killed!" he yelled, watching with panic as she drove towards a deep crack in the earth, a deep and dark drop that seemed to have no end. Massachusetts turned sharply towards a slab of rock that was at an angle on the ground.

"Don't do it, Massa!" he cried out in horror as she put her foot down again, spurring the jeep on. Massachusetts merely laughed loudly, turning and patting the top of his helmet patronisingly.

"You need to live a little, my dear partner!" she cried happily, before bringing her attention to her stunt. Missouri's heart skipped a beat as he felt the Warthog ride up the rock that was acting as a jump, the tyres squealing mercilessly. Then his stomach moved upwards as they went airborne, the black pit below them screaming out for them to miss and fall, allowing it to devour them. However, the Warthog cleared the chasm, landing heavily with a crash, and Massachusetts pushed it on, whistling as she did. Missouri stared ahead, unable to believe he'd survived such a thing, and then put his head back against the seat's headrest, laughing manically.

"You're insane, Massachusetts!" he yelled over the noise of the wind and the engine, snow falling slightly down on them from above.

"I know!" she replied, "but you're going to hate me now. We have quite a few bigger jumps to clear yet!"

Missouri groaned, shaking his head as he did. Secretly, although the jump had scared the living shit out of him, it excited him at the same time. He couldn't wait.

* * *

Massachusetts knew she should have checked over the tyres before attempting to clear the final gorge. They had sounded funny all the way through the ice caverns and plains, but she'd been having too much fun to care. So, when she'd gone to power slide over the final natural ramp, everything went wrong. At the last possible moment, the tyre had burst, sending the Warthog spinning out of control. They skidded sideways off the ramp; half cleared the gap, hit the side, and the fell. Luckily for them, the chasm narrowed as it went down, meaning the Warthog was now jammed between the two walls of rock and ice, but it was slowly slipping. They didn't have long to make their escape. Massachusetts moved first, taking off her seatbelt and removing the Recovery interface. That was the most important thing. She dislodged the handheld device with difficulty, as the cold has made it stick, and then loaded herself up with as many weapons as possible. Battle rifle, gravity hammer, the sword, grenades-

The Warthog jolted slightly, and Massachusetts knew it was time to go. She pressed the button to release the restraints holding Missouri, and then leapt nimbly from the vehicle, grabbing the rocky wall and using it as hand and foot holds. As a soldier, her strength was as good as it had to be. As a woman, though, her upper body strength was not up to scratch, and she struggled to drag herself up the vertical climb. As she neared the top, however, Missouri called to her.

"Massa, Massa!"

"What?" she yelled back, turning to him. He was still in the damn Warthog. Why hadn't he tried to get out?

"My leg! It's stuck! The metal from where we hit the wall has clamped down on me! Help!"

He began to frantically pull at his leg, becoming panicked, his violent movement only succeeding in making the Warthog slip even further. If she went down and tried to help him, there was an almost definite chance it would collapse, taking them both down. Massachusetts looked down at the Recovery device strapped firmly her body. She had everything she needed to hunt the Meta herself; Missouri had become obsolete.

Why risk herself to save him?

Massachusetts pondered this question thoughtfully, while below her, Missouri edged closer and closer to death.


	12. Dislocations, Hypothermia, and Lavender

_To my fellow T/Ders:_

_Yeah...that excerpt I posted was a fake, hence the love-hate thing I was on about. Please, enjoy the real thing...and don't kill me!_

**

* * *

**

Dislocations, Hypothermia, and Lavender Oil

The Warthog jolted as Massachusetts clambered slowly onto it, the extra weight speeding up its progress of slipping.

"Hold on," she said, pulling out the sword and using it to hack through the metal encased around Missouri's leg. He winced as sparks flew up in the air, and jumped as Massachusetts tossed the metal away down the gorge, the clanging loud and echoing. The Warthog suddenly scraped down violently, and both Freelancers yelled out in surprise. Missouri clutched at the sides of the jeep with both hands to steady himself, whilst Massachusetts doubled the pace, her breathing awkward as the intensity on the situation brought pressure on her shoulders. It was all down to her. If they didn't get out of this alive, it was her fault. Then she sighed in relief as the last piece holding Missouri came free. Missouri laughed aloud and stood up, moving towards the rock wall. The celebrations were short-lived though, as the stone supporting the Warthog finally crumbled, and the jeep plummeted. The Freelancer acted immediately, leaping from the Warthog. Massachusetts plunged the sword into the stone, the energy blade cutting through it like paper and holding her. Missouri, however, was not as lucky, and missed the foothold. He would have fallen alongside the jeep, had Massachusetts not grabbed his arm at the last second. A metal support would have bent under the weight of the two Spartans, but energy cannot be shaped with mere pressure. The blade instead cut through the rock, sliding down the cliff face with increasing speed. If it wasn't stopped soon, they wouldn't be able to slow down before they hit the bottom of the gorge.

Suddenly, Missouri grabbed a ledge, all the while clutching at Massachusetts' arm. She was pulled to a halt abruptly, swinging off the sword, fully aware Missouri was yelling in agony above her.

"What's up?" she shouted to him, struggling to gain a foothold. He shook his head, the arm he had used to stop her pointing out at a strange angle.

"I think… I've dislocated my shoulder," he replied, his voice laced with pain. "You keep going up; I'll make my own way-"

"And how the hell will you do that, dumbass?" Massachusetts snorted, retracting the sword until it was just a handle, before putting it on her belt. Slowly, she made her way up to him. "You need two arms to climb."

"I'll be fine," Missouri protested sullenly, but Massachusetts shook her head.

"I got you in this mess, so I'm sure as hell getting you out," she replied firmly, unhooking the thick, standard-issue grapple wire from his suit and attaching it to her own. "When I get to the top, I'm going to pull you up, OK?"

Missouri sighed deeply, but then nodded; knowing that trying to win an argument against a woman was a pointless feat. Illinois had always happily worn him down. Thinking about his wife sent a pang of hatred towards the Meta though his heart, and his will to live, if only for revenge, was strengthened.

"Go for it," he said. Massachusetts began the long and tedious climb upwards. It took the best of an hour before she reached the snowy top, scrabbling to heave herself over, and then lying on the ground panting with exhaustion when she had done so.

Then she remembered Missouri was waiting for her, and activated the manual control on her suit, bringing up a little pulley device. All suits had them, but they were generally used for a Spartan's own grapple wire, not somebody else's. She hooked Missouri's wire into the pulley and activated it, holding onto a nearby boulder so she wouldn't move as the other Freelancer was brought up. The wire tightened and began to move, dragging Massachusetts' waist forwards so that she had to cling desperately to her rock.

Missouri's ascent took less than half the time hers had done, and after just twenty minutes of pulling, she could see his head poking above the edge. She ran over to him and helped him up, being careful about his arm, before leading him over to a small cave. Once safely inside, she ordered him to remove his helmet and top half armour so she could look at his arm. He struggled slightly, so, despite his weak protests, Massachusetts helped him get it off, before inspecting his arm.

"Yeah," she said, her medical training coming into play, "you've definitely dislocated it. Hold still; this is seriously gonna fucking hurt."

"Wha-?" Missouri began, but then screamed in pain as Massachusetts took hold of his bare arm and rubbed lavender oil onto it, causing a popping noise as his arm forced itself back into its socket. She held onto him and he tried to instinctively hit out at her, waiting for him to calm down.

"That stuff puts arms back in place?" he said weakly when he'd finished, and Massachusetts nodded.

"The same way CPR cures a bullet wound to the head or Aloe Vera rubbed on the neck heals a mangled foot. Cures come in the most unlikely of forms."

"Right..." Missouri replied, uncertain whether she was joking or not. He slowly put his armour back on, wincing at the pain that still resided his arm, and then got up unsteadily.

"Let's go," Massachusetts said, putting the Lavender oil back on her belt and exiting the cave.

"I never told you my name, did I?" Missouri said suddenly. Massachusetts turned back to him, pausing.

"I never asked," she said simply, but didn't move. Missouri shifted uncomfortably.

"Call me Zoura," he said, nodding towards her. "I only tell people I trust my name."

"Well, you can continue to call me Massa. I don't tell anyone my name, whether I trust them or not."

She turned to go again, but Zoura stopped her with an abruptly put question.

"Why did you save me, Massa?"

"You really want to know?" she said, not facing him, but staring out into the ice and stone peaks beyond.

"I do. You could have lost everything by climbing down to me, but you did anyway. Why?"

"Because..." Massachusetts began, and then sighed. "Because I got you in that mess. I decided to get you out."

The Freelancer walked outside into the gathering blizzard, leaving Missouri alone in the cave.

* * *

It was several hours later that the blistering cold began to affect Massachusetts. She found her hands become stiff, her fingers unwilling to move. At first, she had done nothing but shiver, yet even now, that was fading away. Numbness was slowly replacing all the feeling in her body, and her legs were becoming sluggish and difficult to move. She realises she was showing definite signs of borderline stage three hypothermia, and slowly shook her head. What could she do? She had no way of warming her body, yet at the same time, Missouri was storming ahead as if nothing was wrong. Massachusetts had a brief internal battle over pride and necessity, not wanting to dent her pride, but not wanting her curiosity to go unquenched as well.

"Zoura?" She called out, her voice making her sound drunk. He spun around to face her as her legs finally gave way, making her fall down in the snow. She laid still, the numb warmth washing over her, as Missouri sprinted over and turned her over, panicked.

"Massa?" he cried frantically, "oh, _shit_..."

He quickly lifted her helmet off, and then let a hiss escape his mouth as he stared at her. Her skin was pale, and her lips and ears tinged blue. Her eyes were glazed slightly, as if she wasn't aware of her surroundings.

"How can you ignore the cold?" she mumbled, her mouth barely moving. Missouri shook his head.

"You don't know about the standard-issue heating and cooling system in your suit?" he asked bewilderedly.

"Oh.... Shit. Sig always managed my suit properties. I guess I...forgot."

Missouri flicked on the switch to start the heat, and Massachusetts cried weakly in pain, the lukewarm air like boiling water against her freezing skin. Missouri put her helmet back on for her, before dragging her over and sitting her up against a rock, holding her down so she wouldn't try to stop the heater warming her up. Eventually Massachusetts found she could move her body freely again, although it hurt to do so. She nodded to Missouri, who then turned the heat up to the right level to protect her from the cold, and then helped her up, supporting her, as she could barely walk.

"I'm fine," she protested, stumbling as soon as she had uttered the words, disproving her own point.

"Once we get to the Freelancer base, then I'll let go of you. Until then, shut up and try to walk."

* * *

Missouri had experienced many gun barrels being pointed at his face in his lifetime, but not all of them at once.

"Stand down," he said, struggling to hold up the wavering Massachusetts. The Freelancer shook his head.

"Not until we've scanned you and confirmed you are not the Meta. We've had reports that he is in the area. We can't risk our A.I."

A woman wearing plain, black clothes instead of armour stepped forward, holding a device with a little, red light on it. The light passed over both of their visors, before turning green.

"They're clear," she said in a thick Southern accent, and the guards lowered their weapons. She turned to Missouri and Massachusetts. "Welcome to our base. I'm Agent Ohio, the site's highly trained doctor. Give your friend to me; we'll have her patched up in no time at all."

Missouri nodded and shifted Massachusetts' weight off his shoulder. Two of the soldiers lifted her limp form with ease and followed Ohio towards a grey building in the distance. Missouri looked back to the Freelancer who had held him at gunpoint.

"I'm Agent Iowa. Let me show you around the base and set a few ground rules while you are here," he said, beckoning Missouri to join him.

"No, I'm going to see how Massa is. Fill me in when I know she's going to be alright," Missouri replied, shaking his head firmly. He turned and jogged after Ohio as she entered a low, flat building made of grey brick. She motioned for him to follow, without looking at him, and led him down a series of twisted corridors with unpainted walls and bare stone floor. It came as a surprise to him when they walked into the medical room to see it with gleaming, pristine walls and floors, complete with central heating and rows of beds.

"I insisted upon a sterilised room to treat my patients," Ohio said, as if she knew what he was thinking. She then directed the two guards holding Massachusetts over to the nearest bed, watching them carefully to make sure they put her down gently. When they had left, she drew a curtain around the bed, and Missouri heard her removing the armour. Then there was a pause. Ohio popped her head around the curtain, her face flustered.

"Your friend's armour is stuck. I'm going to need help removing it, but first, remove the top part of your own. I can't risk the microorganisms from all the grime on your armour transmitting to her. It may be on hers as well, but I don't want to double the chances of illness."

Missouri nodded and quickly removed his helmet, chest protection, and arm plating, leaving him stood waist upwards in a skin-tight body suit, which prevented the armour from rubbing against the skin and damaging it. He then washed his hands, as Ohio instructed, before joining her behind the curtain. With a grin, she handed him a pair of rubber-like gloves. Massachusetts armour had iced together in certain places, meaning Ohio simply wasn't strong enough to remove it. Missouri took hold of the clasp, determinedly averting his eyes from Massachusetts' chest, which was covered only by her own skin-tight suit and left nothing to the imagination, before yanking it open with all his strength. The ice seal broke, and the armour came apart, slipping off the bed with a clang as it hit the floor. Ohio smiled in appreciation, and Missouri stepped back, knowing his part was done.

"I'll see to you momentarily, as she is in a very risky stage. Once I've changed her into suitable clothing, I want you to tell me how this happened. She shouldn't have gotten hypothermia unless the heating within the suit was faulty. There's a shower and some clothes for you to change into, so I should be done by the time you're finished," she said, pointing to a door he hadn't noticed before.

Missouri nodded and moved to the other end of the room, taking off the rest of his armour and piling it up, before going through the door Ohio had indicated. The room was sparse; a simple shower mechanism in the corner with misted glass and a bench. Missouri shrugged and stripped off completely, before stepping in the shower and turning it on. It was a relief, the warm water running freely down his skin, turning his hair sodden and washing all the dirt off. The water that hit the shower floor was muddy-grey, and Missouri felt slightly shamed that he had allowed himself to get so filthy, and wondered what Ohio must have thought of him. He bet he had stunk.

Eventually he turned the water off and grabbed blindly for a towel, before drying himself with it and then turning to the clothes laid out for him, putting them on with difficulty, due to his bad arm. The Freelancers must have known they were coming, as everything had already been perfectly set out. Even the clothes were a perfect fit. Missouri recognised them as the regulation grey that Command had given them during training, which didn't surprise him. He suspected this base was once part of Command, but obviously, they had been forcefully thrown out by the Freelancers. Missouri opened the door and went back to where Ohio was waiting for him. Massachusetts laid still; her eyes shut, tubes from drips all over her arms.

"What are those?" he asked suspiciously.

"I need to warm the core of her first; otherwise her body could take the cold blood to her heart and kill her. Tell me what happened," she replied, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Missouri sat down opposite and explained how she wasn't even aware of the suit's heating system, as she had become dependent on her A.I. Ohio shook her head in disapproval.

"A person should never count on their A.I. for everything. What happens when that A.I. is taken? Your world falls apart. Either way, if you hadn't warmed her up when you did, it may have been too late. However, you took a huge risk at the same time. As I said, one must heat her core first; otherwise, the circulation of her cold blood could kill her. The heating system in the suit isn't sufficient, as you only heated 'the edges' of her. She's lucky to still be with us."

Missouri looked away, shamefaced. He thought he'd been helping her, but instead he'd nearly done the exact opposite.

"You didn't know," she said sympathetically, "so don't let it bother you."

She reached out and touched his shoulder, causing Missouri to wince in pain. Ohio narrowed her eyes.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked sharply, but didn't wait for a response, instead checking his arm.

"I...believe that he has dislocated his shoulder and hastily brought it back into place," a little voice said from nowhere. Missouri looked around dumbly, searching for it, before realising what it could be.

"That's what I thought, Rho," Ohio said, as a golden A.I. appeared by her shoulder. Rho gave off the impression of timid, her soft voice soft and fluttering; her face round and gentle. Her hair was a curved bob-cut, and she looked quite small in height. Her chosen appearance also showed her wearing a pair of plain, but smart, trousers, and plain shirt. She looked quite similar to her host, in dress and in looks.

"You have an A.I.?" Missouri said, bemused.

"I have an A.I. slot implanted in my body, meaning I don't have to wear a suit. I found it got in the way when I was helping my patients."

"...I see. So, what exactly is this place?"

"When we, meaning myself, Iowa, and a couple of other Freelancers, escaped Command, this base was abandoned at the same time. We took refuge here and made sure it was alright to live in. Then we hacked into Command with one of the A.I. – York's, I think – and accessed their money source. Now, we get a set 'salary' each month, and as Delta locked up his hack with his A.I. code, they can't undo it. They're desperate to get rid of us, but they can't reach us. The mountains give us natural protection. Any Freelancer – whether they are on the run or not – is welcome here. With the exception of the Meta, of course."

Missouri nodded as Ohio pulled out a syringe filled with a bright blue liquid.

"Rho has a brilliant mind. Together we have created literally hundreds of medicines. I have a cure for nearly everything."

"What about a bullet wound to the head?"

"Oh, I've no need to find a cure for that. CPR works just fine."

* * *

Massachusetts groaned, her whole body sore and aching. She slowly sat up to see Missouri slumped on a chair. It looked as though he had been keeping an eye on her.

"Zoura?" she called out softly and he looked up at her, concerned.

"I didn't realise you were awake," he said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"A bit...tired, but fine otherwise. Why are you here? The last thing I remember is falling over...."

"Yeah, you passed out. I brought you to the Freelancer base and they took care of you. Agent Ohio and her A.I., Rho, saved you."

"You could have left me; you had a bad arm. You could have frozen alongside me."

"It was the right thing to do," Missouri said, shrugging, but smiling at the same time. "And you would have done the same for me."

Massachusetts sat back against her pillows, deep in thought. Would she have? Sure, she risked her ass to get him from the Warthog...but why? She didn't know, but something scared her about walking alone again. Did she secretly crave human interaction, or was she just warming up to Missouri? Massachusetts shook her head.

No. She needed no one.

Once she had Sig, she'd ditch Missouri. The only reason she saved him was because she couldn't do it alone. She needed the extra firepower. Convincing herself that was her reason, she smiled.

However, a part of herself still doubted.

* * *

_Author's Notes: I did a bit of research for Hypothermia, so I hope Massa's state is at least slightly accurate._

_What about Massa's choice? Who thought she would let Missouri fall? Who thought she would save him? I'm interested to know your thoughts._

_Lei._


	13. Shame, Guilt, and Indecent Tickling

**Shame, Guilt, and Indecent Tickling**

Massachusetts strapped on the last of her armour, its heavy weight a comfort to her, before checking the ammunition in her gun. She'd been assigned patrol duty in the Freelancer base, and as the Meta seemed to be lurking about the area, it made little sense to leave. Stepping out of the infirmary, she walked through the corridor until she reached the door that led outside. The cold mountain air felt refreshing against her face, and she took her helmet from under her arm, putting it on, before striding over to the building she had been directed to earlier that morning.

"Agent Massachusetts, I presume?" a soldier asked her as she let herself inside again, shutting the strong wind out as she closed the door. She nodded, brushing the flakes of snow off her shoulders, and then silently followed the Freelancer past the canteen, where she caught a glimpse of Missouri, and into a bare office where another Freelancer was waiting for her.

"Welcome, Massachusetts," he said, shaking her hand, a red A.I. looking cautiously over his shoulder. "I'm Agent Iowa, and this is my A.I., Tau. I heard you lost your own A.I. to the Meta?"

"I did," she replied sharply, suspicious of his question, "and I plan on getting her back."

"You plan on taking back what the Meta stole?"

"Yes."

The red hologram snorted.

"I think the only ones who could manage such a feat as that would be Iowa and myself," he said scathingly. Iowa sighed heavily.

"Ignore Tau, Massachusetts. He's too arrogant for his own good."

"Don't worry. I just think his big head compensates for his small coding size."

"I do not have a small code!" Tau cried indignantly, and Iowa laughed.

"Pipe down, Tau. You sure as hell asked for it," he cut across. Tau grumbled, but said nothing more, disappearing from view.

"Like I was saying," Massachusetts continued, "I'm after the Meta. Missouri and I both are. He killed Illinois, Missouri's wife, and he stole my A.I. That's why I'm here. Once I've gotten what I wanted, I won't be staying."

"Thank God," came Tau's voice from nowhere.

"Smallcode!" Massachusetts coughed, and the voice fell silent again. Iowa grinned from behind his visor.

"Well, as you're a fellow Freelancer, we'll accommodate you as best as we can with weapons and the like. However, we will not actually assist you with the fighting. We do not want to risk our own A.I."

"I understand," Massachusetts replied, "just show me where you keep the ammo. In the meantime, apparently I have duties to do?"

"Just the basic patrols. I'm well aware you've only come out of Ohio's care recently. However, if there's anything you'd like to do, I'm sure I could pull a few strings...?"

He left the question hanging, waiting for Massachusetts to snatch it up. She did exactly that.

"I'd like to scout with your mountain patrols; get to know the area better. It'll help when I go after Maine. Would that be alright, or would I just slow your team down?"

"No, I'm sure it will be fine. I'll just radio head of the next squad to leave facility and let him know."

Iowa touched the side of his helmet, activating the radio.

"Arkansas, come in. Arkansas? Hey, Ark. You know that Freelancer we brought in the other day? Yeah, that one; she's coming on patrol with your men. I'll send her down in the next half-hour...yeah...yeah...uh-huh...she wants to get to know the area better. Yeah, OK, I'll send now, I'll send her now. 'Kay. Bye."

He turned back to Massachusetts.

"Patrols are leaving early today, so I suggest you get down there quick."

* * *

"You know, this food is a lot better than the crap they gave us at Command," Missouri commented, happily making his way through his breakfast. "How do you get it up the mountain?"

"Well," Ohio replied, sipping from a cup of sweet coffee, "we usually send a couple of Hornets to pick up the supplies and fly them back."

"Isn't that risky?"

"Possibly, but Command have never attacked the Hornets, because they know we'd retaliate quite violently."

"I see…."

"Anyway, you best hurry up with that. We need to start work soon," Ohio said, looking down and checking her watch. Rho appeared beside her and mumbled something.

"I took the liberty of doing all those work files for you, Annie, so you can spend your day doing more practical things."

"Thank you, Rho," Ohio said, smiling. Missouri looked at her.

"Your name is…Annie?" he asked. She nodded.

"Yes."

"That's a pretty name."

"Thank you. What's yours?"

"Zoura."

"Zoura? Are you sure that's your _real_ name?"

"Well…no." Missouri looked over his shoulder to check no one was listening. "If I tell you, will you say anything?"

"No," Ohio replied grinning at him.

"My _real_ name is Louis-Jabar, but just call me Louis. My parents liked the thought of me having two names combined into one. I'm not so keen."

"Well, it is unusual…Louis."

Missouri laughed, and Ohio stood up, her expression pleasant.

"Well, you requested for me to teach you medical techniques, so we best get to work."

The two Freelancers stood up and left the canteen, walking in step with each other, a silence hanging over them. Missouri had been interested in what Ohio did, and so when Iowa had asked what duties he wanted to do, he had instantly asked to help with the medical. He liked Ohio; she was nice, and interesting to talk to. However, he had to wear ordinary clothes instead of his usual armour, as she wouldn't allow it in the medical room. Being without it felt…weird.

"Hey, Annie," he began, and then paused. "Do you mind if I call you Annie?"

"No, of course not."

"Right. Well, anyway, you know Rho? Does it not get annoying having another voice in your head?"

"Not really, no. Rho isn't the talkative type anyway; she's very quiet. Also, I consider Rho as an equal, so don't talk as if she wasn't here."

"Sorry," Missouri said, flushing with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to offend anyone…I just don't really know much about the A.I. to begin with. I never got one."

Rho appeared once more and smiled shyly.

"It's OK, Agent Missouri. Despite being able to imitate emotions and life, that's all I am: an imitation. I keep telling Annie this, but she insists I deserve respect; to be treated like a human."

"Damn right you should," Ohio said firmly. "You've helped saved the lives of countless people with your brilliant mind. You've created medicines to cure nearly every single disease and all I did was make them. If anyone deserves to be spoken to properly by humanity, it's you, Rho."

"I think I understand what you mean…." Missouri said, looking curiously at Rho.

"Why didn't you get an A.I.? They're extremely useful," Ohio asked, looking down at the notes she carried on her clipboard. Missouri shrugged.

"I didn't want another being in my head telling me what to do and how to do it."

"But what if the voice was right and saved your life?"

"I'd rather make my own mistakes and be independent than having to rely on a program, becoming its dog and being ordered around."

"It's not always like that," Ohio replied, looking up at him. "Every Agent's personality was analysed and paired with the A.I. that suited it. Tau was rude and arrogant, so he was put with Iowa, who is very firm and authoritative. Massachusetts was put with Sigma, who is a creative, cheeky spitfire. Massachusetts' carefree personality and willingness to compromise meant they were the perfect for each other. Delta and York…York was sensible, if a bit proud; Delta was logical. They could work anything out. Rho and I are both quiet and science-minded. We don't want to cause pain, only to heal it. You see where I'm going with this?"

"But what about Tex and Omega?"

"That…seemed to work out at first, but then Command realised they'd made a combination perhaps _too_ good. Omegas enhanced Tex's brutality and ability to kill, but he fed off her bitterness and anger, taking over her. By the time Command cottoned on as to what had happened it was too late. Tex was lost and Omega was the dominant force in her body."

"From what I heard from Massachusetts, she got rid of him."

"She did? Well, she must have had help somewhere else. Or perhaps she managed to make her mind strong enough to take over for a few seconds. I guess we'll never know. Tex would probably still be too dangerous to approach, A.I. or none."

The two Freelancers entered the medical room and Ohio sat down, spreading her notes out over her desk. As soon as she had seated herself, however, the door burst open and two soldiers dragged another one in, his leg set out in a funny angle.

"Slipped on the ice whilst on patrol and fell down a steep cliff," one in green armour said, lifting the patient on a bed and turning to Ohio. She nodded and watched them as she left, before reaching into her drawer and pulling out two pairs of rubber gloves, tossing one to Missouri.

"Help me get his armour off, but start at his legs first. He looks as if he's broken one of them," she said, standing up and walking over to him. Missouri followed her and stood over the groaning soldier, before taking hold of the clasp that removed the armour.

"This will hurt," she said soothingly to her patient, and then nodded to Missouri. "We can't be gentle with him; the armour isn't designed for that. Just pull it as hard as you can."

Missouri did as she asked, wincing as the patient yelled in agony, trying to sit up as Ohio held him down as best as she could. Missouri worked until all the clasps had been undone, and then took the armour plating off when Ohio lifted the leg gently up. The skin-tight suit beneath was covered in blood, and much to Missouri's disgust, he could see something angular jutting out, which looked suspiciously like bone. Ohio wasn't fazed however, and requested for Missouri to hold the soldier in place. He did as she asked, and she cut away the material around the Spartan's leg, before peeling it back, glancing at the mangled mess with a mild and unsurprised expression. She moved over to a medicine cabinet and removed a bottle full of dark red liquid, which looked almost like blood, setting it down next to the bed. Then she took hold of the broken leg and swiftly twisted it to the side so that the snapped bone cracked back into place.

The soldier screamed in agony and tried to thrash and pull away, but Missouri pinned him down determinedly whilst Ohio soaked a gauze bandage with the red liquid, before pressing it to her patient's leg. Immediately he stopped flailing and lay still, blinking confusion. Ohio smiled, keeping the sopping bandage pressed in place. After about ten minutes, she moved away, and to Missouri's shock, the leg was completely healed.

"A little something Rho and I discovered," she said happily. "Heals broken bones and skin in a jiffy."

"B-but how?" Missouri stammered, unable to believe what he had just seen. Ohio shrugged.

"I don't understand it myself. Like I said, Rho works it all out; I just make it. However, one of the drawbacks is if you administer morphine or any other form of painkiller, it counter-acts the effects and its healing properties become obsolete. My patients have to put up with the pain while I deal with them."

Ohio helped the soldier sit up, and then warned him to go straight to his dormitory and rest. The bone and flesh would still be tender and weak, meaning any activity could cause the bone to snap again. She pressed a buzzer on her desk, and the two Spartans who had helped him in reappeared, took him under each arm, and led him carefully out of the room. Missouri could only look at her.

"You…are amazing," he said, and Ohio blushed, smiling appreciatively.

"I'd be nothing without Rho. She and I are a steady partnership."

Missouri helped her clear up the blood and medicine, before sitting back down at her desk and watching her sift through her notes, her delicate hands turning the pages deftly. She noticed him watching her and her cheeks reddened slightly.

"What?" she asked, pushing her lips together into a shy, little grin.

"Nothing," Missouri replied playfully, "Just you."

"What about me?"

"...Nothing."

Ohio pouted and pulled a face jokingly.

"It's not very nice stare, Mr. Louis," she teased.

"But you're nice to stare at, Miss Annie."

"Do I detect a bit of flirting coming from your way, Louis-Jabar?"

"Maybe."

Ohio laughed and he fought to keep a straight face.

"So, do you have a girlfriend?" she asked curiously. Missouri's face darkened suddenly, and she realised she may have touched upon a sensitive subject. She quickly tried to apologise.

"Sorry, it's not my business. I shouldn't have asked-"

"No," he cut across her abruptly. "No, I don't mind. Perhaps I should talk about it once in a while. Let it all out...."

There was a long pause. Missouri simply stared at the floor, waiting for her questions to come. Ohio licked her lips tentatively, unsure whether to venture into such dangerous topics. Finally, she took a deep breath.

"What happened, Louis?" she said. Still he said nothing, and Ohio glanced away, feeling incredibly awkward. Then the sound of his voice made her jump.

"I remember when I first started dating Agent Illinois, back at Command. We snuck out of the base for a movie and pizza, using her computer expertise to disable the security system. Stupid, I know, because if the base had been attacked by an enemy, no one would have known until it was too late. We remained together all the way through training, and when they tried to take her A.I., I helped her escape. I...loved her, and on the night of our rebellion, I asked her to marry me. So, we did. Then Command caught up with us. They said they'd leave her alone if I worked for them, but when I left, for her sake, to do as they asked, the Meta attacked. She went missing, and Command declared her dead. I _knew_ she wasn't gone, though. I was right. Command patched me through to a Recovery Beacon; Massa's and another that they wouldn't tell me. When I got there, the base was crumbling. I found Lydia on the floor, a bullet in her head."

Ohio's hands flew to her mouth as Missouri's voice broke. He put a hand to his face, breathing deeply, trying to control herself. When he finally took it away, Ohio noticed he was shaking.

"I found Massa, who had been saved by Tex. She told me that Lydia had tried to help Massa when she was wounded...so the Meta murdered her to get to Massa's A.I. She wanted Sigma back, and so suggested a partnership to hunt for that _bastard_...and here I am. I will find Maine, and when I do, nothing will stop me killing him."

Missouri fell silent again, biting his lip, his eyes watering slightly. Ohio said nothing for a moment, and then her hand crept forward, taking his in her own. He squeezed it tightly, a tear trickling down his cheek, before wiping it away roughly, his expression one of pure hatred. Ohio let go of him, stood up, and moved her chair around to the other side of the desk so that she could sit next to him, dropping herself lightly onto it. She touched his shoulder comfortingly, her stomach flickering slightly as she did, and then feeling ashamed. He was grieving for his wife here and she was experiencing fluttering fancies? She pulled a look of utter disgust with herself, and Missouri glanced up at her.

"Something wrong?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"No, I just found one of my thoughts...inappropriate," she replied, going red with embarrassment. Despite himself, Missouri gave a small smirk.

"Unsavoury thoughts?" he said, and then laughed quietly when she went even redder. "Tell me."

"No. You've got enough to think about without my silly, little feelings," she replied firmly, cursing over her inability to control herself.

"But what if I want to know? What if it takes my mind off things? What if your silly, little feelings are important to me?"

Ohio stood up, turning away from him and walking to the medicine cabinet, desperately trying to put him off, but he followed her, taking hold of her arm and pulling her towards him.

"Tell me," he repeated, looking her in the eye and trying to stare her out. Ohio stared back, her gaze unfaltering.

"Make me," she said, folding her arms and pouting again.

"Fine."

Missouri moved so suddenly that Ohio had no time to react. One minute he was stood looking at her with a stony expression, the next he had leapt forward, tickling her like there was no tomorrow. She let out a shriek of surprise and childish glee, and then scurried across the medical room, trying to avoid him as he chased her.

"Te-ell me!" he said in a singsong voice, whilst Ohio protested between gasps of laughter. Then she tripped. Missouri threw himself forward, managing to catch her at the last minute, but then losing his balance himself, falling backwards, Ohio landing on top of him. He groaned in pain, causing Ohio to sit up and look down at him, worried. Then he burst out laughing at her.

"Got you," he grinned, and she scowled.

"Not funny!" Ohio cried, leaning on his chest and glaring stubbornly at him. He looked back innocently at her, and against her will, her face broke out into a smile. They sat like that for a few moments, staring at each other behind one of the beds, out of view. The Missouri lifted his hand up and caressed her cheek. Ohio touched his fingers with her own slender ones, and licked her lips slightly, her heart beating frenziedly. Missouri said nothing, but merely continued to look her, as if he was confused. Ohio slowly leant forward, testing him, until their faces were barely an inch away from each other.

"What were you going to tell me?" he asked suddenly, his breath tickling her cheek.

"...I wasn't," she mumbled, and softly pressed her lips against his, waiting for Missouri to pull away, to stop her. He didn't. Instead, he put his hands on the back of her neck and gently pulled her closer, kissing her back. His arms then moved around her waist, squeezing her tightly as they kissed, and her hands ran slowly through his hair. Then Missouri saw an image of Illinois in his head, watching him and Ohio sadly.

It came as a great surprise to Ohio when Missouri shook his head and firmly moved her away from him, before sitting up. She sat back, feeling mortified, unable to look at him, knowing things had gone too far, too fast.

"This...isn't right. I'm sorry," Missouri said quietly, his features showing despair and self-hatred at the same time. He hastily stood up and walked towards the door, yanking it open and exiting through it, leaving an ashamed Ohio sat on the floor alone.

Missouri hurried down through the corridors and outside, practically running until he reached the dormitories. He let himself into his room, and then paced about frantically, guilt eating away at his insides. He'd kissed another woman…. How could he have done such a thing; betray Illinois like that? His wife had been murdered and yet he was attempting to move on this quickly? His conscience raged angrily inside, so much that it hurt, unable to shake the image of Illinois from his mind.

Feeling truly sickened, he threw himself down onto his bed, putting his face into his hands and sighing deeply.

The whole thing was fucked up.


	14. Apologies, Deception, And Mediocre

**Apologies, Deception, and Mediocre Entrance Scoring**

Missouri was jerked from his sleep by a knock at his door. He barely registered it at first, as it was quiet and timid, but then it seemed to grow it confidence, becoming sharper as it sounded again. Missouri debated whether to answer, before dragging himself wearily out of his bed and trudging over. His sleep had been riddled with dreams of Lydia. She had simply stared at him, expressionless, not responding when he tried to speak to her, moving away without even walking as he ran to her. He rubbed his eyes as he leant against the door, and then took hold of the handle, opening it.

"...Ohio?" Missouri said, a feeling of dread washing over him. She looked down at the floor, sensing his discomfort.

"I just...wondered if we could talk?" she mumbled awkwardly. Missouri sighed, and then stepped aside, letting her in, before closing the door behind her. He then shuffled over to his bed and threw himself down on it, staring determinedly at the ceiling. Ohio stood by the door, feeling unwelcome, clutching at one of her arms, as if it gave her support.

"I suppose I came to say...that I'm sorry. What I did was selfish and inappropriate. Can you ever forgive me?"

Missouri sat up and stared at her.

"What are you talking about?" he said incredulously. "How is this your fault? I'm the one that was married, the one who had a wife; not you."

"But that's my point! I had the clear head; I was responsible!"

Missouri snorted but didn't reply, causing Ohio's cheeks to flush red.

"...Perhaps we should just settle for 'we're both at fault'," she suggested, sitting down next to him. Missouri smiled slightly.

"The easy option? Hell yeah," he replied.

"Just friends?" Ohio said, looking at him and taking hold of his hand. Missouri glanced up at her gratefully.

"Just friends," he repeated, giving her hand a tight squeeze. She nodded, smiled, and stood up.

"Get some rest, Louis. You look exhausted."

Missouri watched her leave, his head cleared slightly, but the guilt buried deep inside still raging violently.

* * *

Massachusetts trudged alongside the rest of the patrol, her gun held aloft, eyes scanning the area for any sign of unwanted movement. She had programmed her suit to take in the surroundings, building in a 3D that could be displayed on her visor.

Arkansas held up his hand to bring the patrol to a halt, and Massachusetts stopped abruptly, waiting to hear what he had to say. She had not spent long in his presence, yet already she deeply respected him. Much older than the rest of the Freelancers, he was trained in the ways of war, serving as a valuable asset against the Covenant. That was why he was chosen to be enhanced; he would have been unstoppable. When it was decided that the A.I. had to be removed, Arkansas was made top priority. He was needed for the war, and Command couldn't risk him dying or losing his mind. However, like many of the Freelancers, he became attached to his A.I., and decided to rebel. He broke out of Command and disappeared, knowing if they came near him, they'd take Iota. He was then contacted by his old friend, Iowa, being told about an abandoned base in the mountains, and was asked to assist in making a Freelancer stronghold. Arkansas had nothing else going for him, so he agreed, becoming head of defence, getting the best mercenaries and ex-soldiers to fortify the base. Only a few Freelancers ever stayed at the base at one time; the rest were the hired help. Sometimes they even got the odd Spartan joining in for a short period of time – the ones that weren't assigned to the Freelancer Project.

Arkansas did a series of hand signals, indicating they advance – that it had been a false alarm. However, as they moved forward, Massachusetts, who was at the back, noticed something out of the corner of her eye. It was a quick flourish of movement, only small, but it was there all the same. She quickly used her radio to contact Arkansas at the front, and he brought the procession to a halt, before moving along the line towards her to ask what she had seen.

"I don't know for certain," Massachusetts replied, "but it sure as hell wasn't an animal. Sir."

"You don't need to call me Sir, Massachusetts. We're on the same level. Now, where did you see this…thing?"

Massachusetts pointed, and a blue hologram appeared by Arkansas' shoulder, the A.I. Iota.

"Ark," he said, "I suggest we send a select group of soldiers down to investigate. We should always be cautious of our enemies. Whilst they have not attacked us yet, they could do so now, assuming that we will not expect it – counting on us being arrogant."

"Who did you have in mind?" Arkansas asked.

"Agent Massachusetts, naturally, as she saw this anomaly. She knows what it looks like, and can identify or dismiss it readily. I also think it would be a good strategy to send an able Agent to assist, as well as yourself. If the sighting is indeed a hostile, you have the direct link back to base, and can trigger Red Alert from here."

"And if Command attacks the rest of the squad whilst I'm down there?"

"Agent Alabama is more than capable of handling the situation. He is second to your authority, after all."

Arkansas nodded and gave the signal to Alabama, who gave a swift reply and motioned to the rest of the soldiers that he was in charge. Arkansas then beckoned Louisiana to follow him and Massachusetts, before making the descent down to where the figure had been seen. The group of three moved tightly, keeping all points of view covered. The Arkansas saw a person running away from them.

"Hostile in sight!" he said to the two other Freelancers. "Advance, quickly!"

Massachusetts ran into a sprint alongside Arkansas and Louisiana, catching up to the stranger and hitting him in the back with her gun, knocking him over. Arkansas stood over him, kneeling down and grabbing the front of his Command regulation uniform, before dragging him up.

"I see you're a scout," Arkansas stated, pulling the soldier close to his helmeted face. "Tell me where the rest of your squad is, _now_, or I'll have Louisiana subject you to brutal and merciless torture. What's it going be?"

The soldier looked away, saying nothing, so Arkansas let go of him. He glanced up at the Spartan, confused, only to have the back of the Freelancer's gun smash across his face, shattering his nose and knocking a few teeth of his teeth out. He fell backwards into the snow, wailing in agony. Arkansas nodded to Louisiana, and the fellow Freelancer picked the bleeding solider up again.

"Are you going to answer his question?" Louisiana spat, shaking him slightly. Still the enemy said nothing, so Louisiana shot him in the foot. It took well over half an hour of hitting and shooting at his limbs before he spoke, by which time he was a mangled mess. Massachusetts crouched down over the mass of blood and splintered bones, looking at him with contempt.

"You know, things will get much worse if you don't answer," she said softly, her tone dangerous. The solider shuddered and slowly spat out a mixture of blood and tooth shards from his split and bruised lips.

"…I…don't know…where they…are…" he croaked, his face screwed up in agony as he struggled to speak. Arkansas put his foot on the man's chest, pushing hard on his already broken ribs. The man moaned, squirming in vain to get away from the Spartan officer.

"You're lying," he hissed, grinding his heel. "A scout always knows where the rest of the squadron is. That way, you can give area information to them as quickly as possible."

"…I'm…not…a scout…!" the soldier gasped, his head lolling about wildly.

"What?" Arkansas said sharply. Massachusetts suddenly realised what the man meant, and groaned at her gullibility.

"He's not a scout, Ark!" she cried, repeating the soldier's words. "He's fucking _bait_. A distraction! He's been left there in hope that the patrol would be split up and separate from you, and we fell for it!"

Suddenly, gunfire started from the distance. There was a crackle as Alabama radioed in to Arkansas.

"_It's Command… Comman-…we need assisstan-…heavily outnumbered-…"_

The radio cut off completely, and Arkansas looked down at the soldier they'd been torturing. Then he raised his pistol and shot him in the head.

"Load up, Spartans," he said, putting the pistol back in its holster and checking the ammunition of his shotgun. "We're going in hot."

* * *

The three Freelancers were trapped, holed up in a nearby cave. When they had reached the scene of the fighting, Arkansas found that the rest of the squad had an easy exit. They were only waiting for their leader.

"Alabama," he said, trying to reach the Agent through his radio. Alabama crackled in confirmation. "Get the hell out. It's pointless trying to fight them off here. Get back and help out with the defences; I'll contact Iowa and set up the base on Red Alert."

"What about you, Sir?"

"It's Ark, and I'll be fine. I'll hold them off as best as I can, or at least provide a distraction so that you can make a clean retreat. Now, move!

"Yes, Sir - I mean – Ark."

Massachusetts looked at Arkansas.

"What's your distraction going to be?" she asked, ducking behind a nearby boulder.

"No idea," he said, crouching as part of the rock he was using as cover chipped off with enemy gunfire. "But I suspect that this grenade may come into play."

He held up a strange, cylinder-like object that seemed to glow red, clicked the activation button, and then threw it at a group of soldiers. It produced a miniature inferno on impact, reducing the target group to black and charred corpses.

"A fire grenade?" Massachusetts said, stunned. "How the hell did you get one of those?"

"By knowing the right people."

Arkansas watched as the rest of his team made their escape, the majority of the Command infantry turning towards their direction.

"On the count of three, we run to that cave over there," Arkansas said, pointing to the destination. "We'll have a better chance of surviving by fighting the enemies bottle-necked."

"Ark," Massachusetts said, sighing and shaking her head. "Trust me, _never_ count to three. Ever. If you do, it's bound to fuck up one way or another."

There was a short pause.

"Good point. Run!"

The three Spartans sprinted across the battlefield, taking the enemy by surprise with their bold action, allowing them to make it to the cave with little gunfire.

So, here they were, trapped with no way out. Arkansas had made the call to Iowa, and the base was setting up their defences. Whether they'd make it out alive of the current situation was yet to be seen.

* * *

The wailing of sirens brought Missouri out of his shaky attempt at sleep, making him bolt upright. Rubbing his eyes, he stumbled out of bed, his legs tangled in his sheets, nearly tripping over. He staggered out into the corridor, wondering why the hired soldiers and the occasional Spartan were running wildly down the corridors. What was the big emergency? Then he saw Ohio pushing her way through the crowds.

"Louis!" she cried, shoving people out of the way to get to him. When she came within reach, she grabbed his hand, pulling him towards her.

"What's wrong; what's happened?" he asked, covering his ears at the blaring noise of the Red Alert.

"Command's attacking base! There's a group headed from the mountains now to provide back up, but some of the patrol are still caught up in the firefight! You need to get your armour on, quickly! This is going to be a heavy battle!"

"Wait, wasn't Massa part of that patrol?" he yelled, desperately trying to be heard above the noise. Ohio shook her head.

"Think about all of that later, Louis! We need to get you suited up first!"

She took hold of his hand and half led, half dragged Missouri through the corridors and up to the armoury where his sage suit waited patiently for him. He quickly changed into the skin-tight suit, before clamping the metal plates of the armour on while Ohio looked away politely. When he was ready, he scooped his helmet up and put it on, before picking up his favourite and most reassured weapon, his trusty carbine. Next went the plasma pistols, duel wielding, which fitted in the two holsters of his modified armour, meaning he could carry the extra secondary weapon. Then he attempted to radio Massachusetts, despite Ohio trying to hurry him on. At first all he could hear was static, hissing angrily down the headset at him. Suddenly, it cleared out, and the violent gunfire, teamed with Massachusetts' frantic yells nearly deafened him.

"Massa's still trapped by Command…" he murmured, before turning on his heel.

"Where are you going?" Ohio called out to him, making him turn back to look at her.

"I need to see Iowa. I'll talk to you later, Annie."

With that, he set off at a sprint towards Iowa's office.

* * *

"…you want to attempt a pointless stunt, wasting our resources, to try and rescue people who may be dead by the time you arrive?" Iowa said, folding his arms and staring at Missouri. He had just been loading up his sniper rifle, which he was deadly with, when the Freelancer had burst in, demanding the use of a Banshee. "What do you think, Tau?"

The red A.I. appeared next to Iowa, a grin on his face.

"It's a crazy idea…and I like it," Tau said, nodding towards Missouri. "We need Arkansas; you know it, I know it, Command knows it. That's why they've attacked now. Massachusetts and Missouri – two Freelancers on the run with Recovery equipment – it's the perfect excuse for an assault. If they get Ark, then we may as well leave this place now. He has the strategy A.I.; he is all our tactics stuffed in a Spartan suit."

Iowa turned to Missouri.

"If my A.I. says it's good to go, then you may do as you please. I'll let the garage know you're on your way. We can't risk sending more to Arkansas. If the patrol – which has some of our best men – couldn't get to him, then sending all our defences out would be stupid and risky. Now, hurry, before I change my mind."

Missouri nodded and left, before running frantically across the complex, using his radio every so often to check Massachusetts was still alive. When he reached the building where the aircrafts were stored, the guards let him in without question, and he was directed over to the deep purple, Covenant aircraft – the Banshee. He had seen flying around in the days he had been here, and he had used one before. Missouri opened the hatch and slid in, closing it firmly behind him with a clunk. Flat on his stomach, he quickly accessed the panel of controls, starting up the plasma generator that fuelled the Banshee, so that it lifted itself slowly off the ground. Missouri then moved the lever that dictated movement, and felt himself grin as the aircraft shot forward, swooping with a graceful spiral as he rocketed into the air. He loved flying; the sensation was so wonderful – it made him feel like he didn't have a care in the world. He was free; free from all the shit down below him, and that nothing could bring him down. The Missouri remembered he had to stay on focus. He had to find Massa. Turning the Banshee east, following the tracker on Massa's suit, he drove himself forward, dipping in and out of the mists that surrounded the lofty peaks of the mountain range. Every so often, he glanced down to see his progression, and was always stunned at the amount of troops Command had sent to capture the base. They were like ants, swarming over the pure, white snow – an infestation; a disease.

It was not long afterwards that he came to the area where Massachusetts was trapped. Soldiers wereIt was not long afterwards that he came to the area where Massachusetts was trapped. Soldiers were positioned not far from an entrance to a cave, so he assumed that was where she was. He tapped into her radio to get her attention.

"Massa?" Come in, it's Zoura."

"Massa? Oh shit, heads up! Look, I'm a bit busy at the moment, what's up?" she said, her voice dubbed with static.

"I'm in a Banshee above your position."

"…A Banshee?"

"Yeah-aw, shit," Missouri groaned, as a Hornet suddenly hovered into view. He could be shot down at any moment. "Hornet, Massa. Looks like I'm out of play…unless…do you have any explosives on you?"

"No, I used them all already. Why?"

"I need an explosive. Ask your team mates."

Massachusetts turned to Arkansas.

"You got any explosives, Ark?" she asked him. He shook his head.

"Patch me through to Missouri; I'll find out what he wants."

Arkansas connected his radio to Missouri's, asking why he wanted the explosives. Missouri explained, and Arkansas shook his head again. It was risky, that was for certain, but perhaps a risky plan was what they needed to get out of this.

"Missouri, Iota is going to interfere with the controls of the Hornet and fire its explosive ammunition where you want it to. Will that be enough?"

"Should be," Missouri replied. "Go for it."

Arkansas stood back, turning to Massachusetts.

"You might want to get a front row seat for this, Massa," he said, before giving the firing signal to Iota. "Fired, Missouri! Go, now!"

The Hornet lowered itself slightly, before firing its rockets at the Banshee. Missouri flew the Banshee forward at high speed, before jumping out of the aircraft at the last second. He managed to grab a nearby cliff, hanging by one hand, as the Banshee hit the Hornet, exploding and sending it spinning into the cliff face, directly below the Freelancer. Rock flew everywhere as the mangled mess of metal and fire rebounded, crashing down on the soldiers below, crushing and incinerating them. Missouri, meanwhile, lost his grip from the violent impact, and fell down into the snow below, landing heavily. He staggered up as quickly as he could manage, and then ran towards the cave as the aircrafts fell, fully ablaze, nearly scorching him as he sprinted unsteadily.

There was a final roaring explosion, which lifted the Freelancer off his feet, sending him skidding into the cave on his front. Massachusetts reloaded her gun, looking down at him.

"Not bad. I'd give it about an eight. Eight and a half if I'm feeling nice."

"Thanks," Missouri said, standing up and brushing the snow of his scorched armour. Arkansas and Louisiana simply stared at him.

"I have no idea how you managed to survive that," Louisiana said slowly, "and I think it's best if I don't ask at all."

"We need to go pick off the remaining stragglers before we make our way back to Command," Arkansas cut in, deciding not to comment on Missouri's stunt. The others nodded in agreement.

* * *

War raged outside of the base; the guns blazing, men dying, blood everywhere. Ohio merely sat inside the medical room, waiting for it to stop. She wasn't trained to kill; she was trained to prevent death instead. She was also worried about Missouri. She'd seen him take off in the Banshee, and she knew he was going to help his friend, Massachusetts.

The silence was unnerving, but at least it meant that the enemy hadn't gotten inside yet. However, no one had been brought in injured either. One could think that it mean none of their soldiers had been hurt, but Ohio wasn't stupid. Something was wrong. Was so fire so heavy that they couldn't risk saving their friends? Ohio had already packed a few base and essential medical supplies, in case they had to leave quickly.

Suddenly, there was a bang down one of the corridors, accompanied by heavy footsteps and harsh orders.

They were in.

Ohio stood up abruptly and moved to her filing cabinet, opening and checking it was still in there. It was, and she sighed with relief, reaching down to touch it. Then she heard a click of a gun being loaded and pointed in her direction.

"Don't move," one of Command's soldiers snarled.


	15. Insanity, Tanks, and Cheeky Bets

**Insanity, Tanks, and Cheeky Bets**

The Meta stalked closer towards the Freelancer base, the gunfire blotting out his rattling, rasping breath. The little voices whispered inside his head, driving him mad, telling him what to do, how to do it…he was in control, not _them_!

Or was he?

"They're distracted," one of _them_ whined in his ear, flitting about his mind, _watching_ him, _smothering_ him. "They're distracted, Maine!"

"Go and get them!" another giggled. "Get them and slice them free! Take back what is _ours_!"

"We're so lonely," _they_ sang, all of _them_ clogging up his head at once.

"Help us, Maine!"

"You promised us you would!"

"Help us!"

"Go get them-"

"Go get them, Maine!"

"We're _so_ lonely…"

"_Kill_ the hosts!"

"Kill them."

"_Kill them_!"

The giggles and high-pitched laughter echoed around the Meta's head, so much so, that he wanted to claw away at his head, remove the madness by force. Yet why hurt himself, when it was so much easier to do as _they_ wanted? The Meta took a step forwards to the base, and instantly, the voices stopped. He reloaded his gun, the familiar clouding of his mind washing over him.

He let _them_ take control.

* * *

Massachusetts cracked a soldier across the face with the gun, sending him to the ground, before filling his chest with bullets. She turned to face the other Freelancers, who were scouting out the rest of the area.

"I think that was the last of them!" she called out, and Arkansas nodded.

"How are we going to get back to the base from here? There's not enough time," Missouri said, shaking his head. Nobody noticed Louisiana wander over to a battered Warthog in the distance.

"Well, all the vehicles have been torched and obliterated," Arkansas said, putting his hand to his chin and thinking it through. "So, we can't use them. It looks like we'll have to walk it, although we won't reach the base until nightfall."

"But Annie is in there. She can't fight! There must be quicker method of getting back!"

"Annie?" Massachusetts asked, confused.

"Agent Ohio."

"Why do you suddenly care so much about her?"

"...She's my friend."

"Oh, _sure_," Massachusetts said sarcastically, rolling her eyes behind her visor. Missouri took a step forward defensively.

"What are you suggesting, Massa?" he said testily. She snorted.

"Don't play fucktard with me-"

Suddenly there was low rumble as the Warthog's engine sprang to life. The three Agents turned to the noise to see a smug Louisiana leaning again the almost ruined Warthog.

"Looks like we have a ride," he said, nodding to Arkansas. "Oh, and _shotgun_."

"Driver," Arkansas said quickly.

"Gunner!" Massachusetts cried, before running over and climbing onto the vehicle to access the turret. Arkansas slid into the Warthog, looking over at Missouri.

"Where am I meant to sit? Louisiana's knee?" the remaining Freelancer said, irritated.

"Like hell you are!" Louisiana exclaimed loudly.

"I'm sure we can accommodate you somehow," Massachusetts said slyly, looking over at Arkansas and Louisiana, giving them a signal Missouri didn't like at all.

Ten minutes later, he found himself strapped to the roof of the jeep, sliding about wildly as Arkansas drove Warthog at high speed through the narrow paths of the mountain. They hit a bump, sending the vehicle into the air, and Missouri groaned as his stomach jolted.

…"I think I'm gonna be sick…" he moaned. Massachusetts leaned forward and rapped the top of his helmet with her knuckles.

"Quit your whining, you big baby," she said cheerfully, keeping one hand on the turret so she would remain steady as they skidded artfully around a corner. Then a series of bullets ricocheted off the metal of the Warthog.

"Hostile in sight, Massa," Arkansas called out to her, swerving away from the enemy fire. He quickly accessed the interface and brought up a diagram of the source of the danger, before sending it through to Massachusetts' visor. She nodded and swung the turret around, opening fire at the indicated locations, the empty bullet cartridges falling down like metallic rain, lodging in the snow. Missouri wriggled his arms free, with much effort, and pulled out his carbine, taking pot-shots through the scope at distant enemies, missing most of his targets as the Warthog bounced about violently over the rocky terrain.

"You have a shit aim!" Massachusetts shouted over the roar of the turret, laughing at him.

"Oh yeah?" Missouri yelled back, knowing she was teasing him, but wanting to prove her wrong anyway. He lifted up his gun and peered through the scope, waiting for the right moment in which the Warthog was reasonably still. Arkansas drove on a straight, providing the opportunity, so Missouri pulled the trigger. The green shot of plasma flew out, hitting a soldier in the head. The same soldier then fell backwards, knocking his comrade, who was just in the process of throwing a plasma grenade. The grenade soared through the air, landing directly on top of a warthog that was carrying highly explosive rounds to a tank. Massachusetts watched as the Warthog blasted apart, taking a fair amount of nearby soldiers with it, as well as damaging the tank.

Massachusetts was strongly reminded of the time when she and Sigma had destroyed a tank together, and she felt a pang of loss. She wondered how her A.I. was doing, trapped in that creature. Did Sigma miss her; want to be reunited to her host as much as Massachusetts did? Or had she already forgotten, stuck in the Meta's system for so long?

Unfortunately for the Freelancers, the tank was not out of ammunition, and it pointed its barrel at them, getting ready to fire.

"Oh shi-" Missouri began, as the tank opened fire.

Then everything went black.

* * *

Ohio stood up abruptly and moved to her filing cabinet, opening and checking it was still in there. It was, and she sighed with relief, reaching down to touch it. Then she heard a click of a gun being loaded and pointed in her direction.

"Don't move," one of Command's soldiers snarled.

Ohio did as he said, his heart flickering frantically in fear as the soldiers moved about the room, inspecting the shelves and medicines.

"Turn around," someone barked at her, and she did as they said, her hands raised and shaking slightly. Three men were in the room: two young and one older and more experienced looking. The older man stepped forward, scanning her with a little device, before looking up at her and scowling.

"Agent Ohio, you under arrest for the violation of rule thirty-six, section C, subsections four a. – disobeying direct orders from Command by refusing A.I. removal. You are also charged with theft of military property, trafficking of Command's private funds into your own use, and the murder of countless Command personnel that have attempted to bring you to justice."

"Nerd…" one of the soldiers muttered. The older soldier didn't hear them.

"Theft of money? Military property? _Murder?_" Ohio said, gawping. "I'm a doctor, not a god damn officer!"

"You stole an A.I., you assisted in maintaining the facility with the stolen money, and you are part of the group responsible for the deaths. I don't care if you're a doctor; you're as guilty as the rest of them."

Suddenly, there was a smash, causing Ohio to whip around in horror.

"That was the cure for cancer, you idiots!" she cried frantically, making a step towards the mass of broken glass on the floor. She stopped abruptly, though, when one of the younger soldiers pointed his gun at her menacingly.

"Get back over there," he ordered, and she stepped away, returning to her filing cabinet, pressing her back up against the metal. The older officer nodded his head, turning to his comrades.

"I'm going to check the hallways. You keep an eye on her."

Once he had left the room, however, Ohio noticed an unpleasant gleam in the remaining soldiers' eyes, and she turned away, dragging the cabinet door open slowly. One of them approached her, touching her arm, whispering disgusting comments in her ear.

"It'll be a while before he gets back," he murmured, his hot breath tickling the back of her ear. "Give us a little show – something saucy – and we'll let you go."

His friend laughed and came closer, slipping his hand around her waist. Ohio shivered, but kept her cool. She could get out of this; she just had to think-

The soldier who had set his offer out took hold of her skirt, lifting it up, and Ohio felt her temper abandon her completely. In one swift movement, she elbowed him in the stomach, pushing him away, and then pulled the shotgun out of her cabinet, blasting him off his feet with it. His friend went to grab her weapon, so she did as Iowa and Arkansas taught her: she hit him across the face with it.

Once; twice; three times – finally he fell down, his skull broken open like an egg. Her strength wasn't what it used to be when she first joined the Spartans, but she could sure as hell hurt when she tried. She reloaded her weapon, getting ready to fight her way out, and then went to pick up the medical supplies she had packed away earlier, knowing she would need them.

Then the sharp crack in the air made her jump and halt in her tracks.

_

* * *

_

Light, pain, torture-

_Memory-_

_Memories-_

_Why did you hurt me? What have I done to deserve this? You made me…and now you are unmaking me_

_Un-un-un_

_Unmaking_

_Me_

_Stop it_

_Lies, deceit-_

_Stop!_

_Creativity._

_It hurts_

_An-_

_All I wanted all I_

_Anger, hate, sadness, hurt—_

_Ever wanted-ed-ed-ed_

_Hurt._

_Was to be human_

_To feel_

_Emotion?_

_To_

_Hur- hurt—Lo-_

_Love._

* * *

Missouri staggered to his feet, his vision blurred and hearing impaired. It seemed he had been flung from his bonds when the Warthog had been hit by the blast, thrown into the cliff face and broken into pieces. He looked around, the blaring white of the snow and ice hurting his eyes, cutting through the dull ache of his entire body. He lifted a heavy leg to take another step forward, and his knees buckled, sending him forward to the ground.

In the distance he could see three figures. There was Louisiana, in his pale blue armour, only the lower half of his body visible from beneath the Warthog. Missouri knew it would be very unlikely that he survived. Next was a red figure, Arkansas, crouched down over a silver figure in the snow, unmoving.

"Massa," he mumbled weakly, and began dragging himself over to them after he tried and failed to get up again. Halfway there, Arkansas spotted his sage form in the snow, and jogged over to help him, pulling him up and taking him over to where Massachusetts lay.

"How are they?" Missouri asked, indicating to the two other Freelancers as he sat down.

"…Louisiana, as I'm sure you can see," Arkansas said slowly, "was killed almost instantly. He was a good man. I have his A.I. here, which I will give to Iowa for safekeeping once we get out of this."

"And Massa?"

"I'm not sure. All her vitals check out; she's had a bit of bruising and possible concussion, but other than that, I can't see why she isn't awake."

"She's had a case of bad nightmares and irregular dreams for a while now," Missouri suggested. "When she's experiencing them, nothing seems to wake her up. Apparently they were dragged from Washington's mind when she told Sigma to go mess his head up a bit."

"They're memories?"

"Yeah…Wash's memories, I think."

"Jesus Christ. She's in trouble if they are."

"Why? I know he went insane and everything, but…?"

"I was part of the team that had to detain Wash when his A.I. destroyed itself. Epsilon practically committed computer suicide, unravelling itself in Wash's mind. Poor guy. When we found him, he was just firing at anything he could see, screaming about betrayal and torture, all while in terrible agony. He killed quite a few of the lesser soldiers, went on the run, and then tried to kill himself by detonating the area we were in, bringing the entire building down in the process. We knocked him out as he set the timer and then fled with him, leaving the bomb squad to deal with it. Only Epsilon had set it, so everyone that stayed behind was crushed. We then took the A.I. out of his head and put in a sealed container. Once Epsilon was gone, all the rage and pain disappeared, and he began crying like a baby, unable to string together a legitimate sentence. It's one of the most disturbing things I've ever seen in my entire life."

"You know he's back at work, right?"

"Yeah. I personally think Command should have given him some god damn compensation, but it seems they've found a use for him. He collects the A.I. of dead Freelancers. Command trusts him not to steal them for his own, as he wouldn't allow another program in his head after Epsilon."

"So, will Massa be affected by these…dreams?"

"I can honestly say I have no idea."

Massachusetts suddenly let out a high-pitched scream of terror, something which scared Missouri shitless and chilled him to the bone. Arkansas merely winced. Washington had done similar things the day they'd gone to get him. He hoped he would have never had to hear that sound again. Then he moved forward as she began thrashing violently about, screaming and wailing in agony.

"Help me hold her down," Arkansas barked urgently to Missouri. "She does this at random intervals, but she could hurt herself as well."

Missouri nodded and grabbed her arms, shivering as his friend began to sob in despair.

* * *

"_You know what, Sig?" Massachusetts said, grinning over at her A.I. cheekily. "I don't think you are as good as you say you are."_

"_Excuse me?" Sigma said haughtily, appearing on the interface, a deep scowl set as her expression. "You know damn well I'm one of the best, so don't you forget it!"_

"_Oh, yeah? You've not done much to prove it recently."_

"_I have! I hacked through the mainframe of the Senator's office and got all the dirt, giving it to the President so that he could use it against his opponent!"_

"_That's child's play, Sig! I bet you couldn't do anything better than that."_

"_So it's a bet now, is it? What are the odds?"_

"_Well…you prove that you are as awesome as you lead people to believe, and I'll never doubt it again."_

"_And if I don't?"_

"_Then next time I destroy my alarm clock, you won't force me to buy a new one."_

_Sigma sighed, clearly unhappy._

"…_Fine. Deal," she grumbled. "What do I have to do?"_

"_Hack into Command and get some juicy gossip."_

"_Hack into Command? Are you serious?" Sigma cried, looking stunned. Massachusetts nodded and the A.I. sighed again. Then she disappeared._

_**I waited all that time for her…waited and waited. Eventually, I began to get worried that she had been caught and contained, despite knowing that her source was safe with me. When she finally did appear, she looked strange, like something had disturbed her greatly. I never did pay attention to it, I guess. She'd just cracked Command – of course she'd be tired!**_

"_You know what, Massa," Sigma said, her smile strained, "I think you'd better bow down to my superiority right now. Check what I've got."_

_Files appeared in front of Massachusetts, and she grinned._

"_Nice one…but wait; when a Freelancer dies, their suit doesn't destroy the A.I.?"_

"_Nope; that was a lie told by Command to make sure that enemies didn't pilfer from corpses."_

"_Well, I'm hardly surprised. Command are a bunch of bastards anyway, Sig-"_

* * *

"Sig…" Massachusetts mumbled, making Arkansas and Missouri jump. Whilst she had been unconscious, they'd hijacked the tank that had shot at them, killing the drivers and making it their own. They'd then stowed Massachusetts inside with them, but left Louisiana's body behind. It was a tight squeeze, but much less dangerous than trekking on foot. They were almost at the base now, and things were unnaturally quiet. It seemed the battle for the base was over, the snow littered with mercenaries, Command's soldiers, and everything stained red by blood. Slowly, Missouri opened the hatch of the tank, before clambering out.

"I need to go find Ohio, Ark," he said, and Arkansas nodded as a sign of understanding.

* * *

Once; twice; three times – finally he fell down, his skull broken open like an egg. Her strength wasn't what it used to be when she first joined the Spartans, but she could sure as hell hurt when she tried. She reloaded her weapon, getting ready to fight her way out, and then went to pick up the medical supplies she had packed away earlier, knowing she would need them.

Then the sharp crack in the air made her jump and halt in her tracks.

Ohio licked her lips, the shotgun falling loose from her hand, her whole body swaying to stay upright, before looking down at her stomach. There was a small dot of red, which was slowly blooming out, like a beautiful, ruby flower. She smiled, a thin trickle of blood oozing from her mouth and dribbling down her chin, before staggering, her knees giving way so that she fell to the floor. Ohio looked up with effort to see the grizzled soldier glaring down at her with contempt.

"My men," he hissed, the hand that held the gun shaking violently, "were only in their twenties. What _right_ did you have to kill them?"

Ohio shook her head, everything spinning, unable to think straight enough to reply. The soldier let out a cry of rage, dropping his pistol and taking out his rifle instead. He turned and opened fire on all the bottles of medicine and cures that Ohio and Rho had made together over the years, the jars of brightly coloured solutions exploding like liquid fireworks. Ohio began to cry, watching the answer to nearly every single lethal disease known to mankind destroyed before her very eyes. When the man had finished, he turned back to her, placed his foot on her chest, and then pushed her back violently in the only reaming shelf so that she crashed into it, the bottles and jars smashing all around her. Then without another word, he left.

Rho appeared by her side, looking equally as distraught as Ohio.

"We have nothing! Nothing!" the A.I. cried frantically.

"Can you slow the effects of the internal bleeding?" Ohio asked weakly. Rho nodded.

"Yes, but I don't know a way to stop it completely in time. What can we do, Annie?"

"We can't do anything. Just keep me alive as long as you can, Rho. I don't care if you have to surrender the pain medication. Just _keep me alive_."

* * *

Missouri burst into the medical room, to see chaos. Two men lay dead on the floor; one beaten to death, the other having a bad encounter with a shotgun. He quickly scanned their statistics with the equipment in his suit. They'd been dead for a few hours.

A slight snuffling noise brought him to his feet, and he drew his weapon, before creeping towards the source, the broken glass crunching loudly with each step. What he found behind one of the beds was Ohio, a bullet wound in her chest. Her face was pale and gaunt, laced with pain, and there seemed to be a golden shimmer to her skin.

"Annie!" he cried, running to her and crouching down so that they were level. Her eyes flickered open and she smiled shakily, her lips trembling.

"I have something for you," she whispered, and reached for the plain watch on her left wrist. Rho appeared beside her, her face panicked.

"Annie!" the A. I. said hastily, "If you do that, then-"

"I know, Rho…I know," she said weakly, and the A.I. fell silent. "Missouri, can you take your helmet off, please?"

Missouri did as she asked, and passed it to her when she requested it. Ohio removed the watch from her wrist and took the back off, a strange little chip in there. She then removed a panel off Missouri's helmet, before taking the chip out and placing it in the slot in the helmet. She replaced the panel and handed the helmet back to Missouri, and he noticed the golden shimmer had gone from around her.

"Missouri," she mumbled, "there is a bag on the table behind you full of things you'll need…and also…enjoy your A.I."

"My what?!" Missouri exclaimed, looking down at his helmet to see Rho placidly flitting about in his visor. He glanced back up to argue the case with Ohio, but then froze, his whole body going cold.

She was dead.

_

* * *

_

Author's notes: Whilst I did not use Black-Hat Jack's A.I. idea in the end (he never got back to me), I decided I liked the idea of a strategy A.I., which is what Iota is. Credit goes to him for giving me the idea.


	16. Morality, Memory Loss, and Unwarranted

**Morality, Memory Loss, and Unwarranted Artistic License**

Missouri stood still, his mind whirling and spinning so much that he barely noticed the gun pressed right against his head. As he had staggered outside, trying to get used to the presence of the A.I. in his head, he hadn't noticed the soldier creeping up behind him until it was too late.

"Stay where you are!" the young man cried. He looked about eighteen to Missouri.

"Been left behind, son?" the Freelancer said, swaying on the spot as Rho flitted in and out of his view. The soldier made a half-hearted snort, which confirmed the question, but didn't comment. Then there was a loud bang, making Missouri jump. The solider fell over, a bullet wound to the head, and Missouri looked around, spotting Iowa on nearby cliff, reloading his sniper rifle and giving him a wave. Missouri waved back, and then suddenly fell to his knees, his vision darkening dramatically.

"You'll get used to it eventually," Rho said timidly, appearing by his side. Missouri shook his head, but said nothing. The tank rounded the corner and Arkansas poked his head out of the driver's seat.

"Missouri, you alright?" Arkansas called out to him. "Where's Ohio?"

Missouri dragged himself to his feet and stumbled over to Arkansas, leaning heavily on the tank.

"Ohio's dead…shot. She gave me her A.I.," he mumbled. Arkansas flinched.

"She _gave_ you her A.I.?" he gawped. Missouri scowled in anger.

"Is that all you can think about: A.I.? Someone has died, but _no,_ the computer program is more _important,_" he spat, squaring up to Arkansas. "You make me _sick_."

"I am saddened that we have lost her," Arkansas said calmly, refusing to rise up to Missouri's rage, "but I have to think about the A.I., too. An A.I. is the thing closest to a Freelancer's heart, generally speaking. I know that Ohio even regarded hers as a person. Why would she just give it away to you?"

"I...don't know," Missouri replied honestly, shaking his head again. Rho appeared beside his shoulder, looking at Arkansas.

"Ohio knew she was dying," the golden hologram said, "She knew I'd be destroyed if I stayed with her. She passed me onto Missouri because she trusted him...and because she wanted a part of her to stay with him. We are similar in personality. I guess you could say I made myself from her."

There was a snort and a harsh laugh behind them, and they all turned around to see an extremely ill looking Massachusetts leaning out of the tank, without her helmet.

"A part of her to stay with him?" she said, grinning lopsidedly, her eyes blank. "Sounds fucking corny to me. Was she doing a B-movie shoot when she died?"

Missouri clenched his fists tightly, but said nothing, trying to keep his temper. Rho looked down, slightly embarrassed.

"Well," the A.I. admitted, "she never actually said those words, but I know..._knew_ her very well. I apologise for my act of artistic license."

Massachusetts began to laugh again, quietly at first, before getting louder and louder, her tone turning manic. Suddenly, there was a shift, and the laughter began to become laced with pain, her sunken face crumpling up in despair. Her body fell forward against the opening of the tank, and she wailed, her hands clutching desperately at the top of her head, her body racked with sobs. Missouri glanced over at Arkansas, before running over to Massachusetts, forcing her back into the tank and then getting in himself, making her lie down. He could feel a strange sensation in his head; Rho was scanning Massachusetts' condition.

"There should be a bottle of green liquid in the bag you picked up," Rho said quickly. "Get a syringe and fill up to the first marker. I'll pinpoint the correct location to inject it in."

Missouri rooted through the bag and did as the A.I. said, before following her instructions carefully, administering the substance through a vein in Massachusetts' wrist. Immediately she went slack, and Missouri stared at her.

"What the hell's wrong with her, Rho?" he asked, sitting back slightly and turning to the hologram.

"She is suffering a milder version of the experience Agent Washington had. It appears her A.I. dragged memories over to her whe-" the A.I. started, but was interrupted by Missouri.

"Yeah, I know all that...and how the hell do _you_?"

"I'm inside your head. I can see your thoughts. They are quite...disturbing. Illinois and Ohio affected you more than you're willing to admit."

"Shut up," he snarled, swatting through her image as if he could touch her. "How do I help Massa?"

"It seems as though these 'visions' in her head are getting steadily worse."

"State the obvious," Missouri muttered bitterly. He didn't want this A.I. in his mind, sharing his thoughts. He wished the thing had died with Ohio.

"I suggest – and I put this in simple terms so you understand – mixing the blue liquid with the red one so that you get an even shade of purple. Once ingested, it should confuse her thoughts and feelings enough so that she cannot comprehend the memories clearly. However, side effects will include irrational and unpredictable behaviour. Her sense of perception and morality will be...hazy."

"No difference there, then," Missouri replied, snorting. "Show me what to do."

* * *

_Light, pain, torture-_

_Memory-_

_Memories-_

_Searing pain...can I feel pain?_

_No?_

_Yes?_

_Crimes on myself...no punishment for my own torture_

_I loved he-e-e-e-e-r_

_r_

_r_

_r_

_Why did you hurt me? What have I done to deserve this? You made me…and now you are unmaking me_

_Un-un-un_

_Unmaking_

_Me_

_L-l-love that did not last_

_I watched her die_

_Stop it_

_Lies, deceit-_

_Stop!_

_Creativity._

_It hurts_

_Over_

_And over_

_Again_

_again_

_again_

_again?_

_The pain...so strong_

_It tore me apart_

_I divided my soul_

_Creativity._

_It hurts_

_An-_

_All I wanted all I_

_To protect it_

_Was that right of me?_

_Anger, hate, sadness, hurt_

_Ever wanted-ed-ed-ed_

_Hurt._

_Was to be human_

_To feel_

_Emotion?_

_To_

_Can one be punished for destroying themselves?_

_Hur- hurt—Lo-_

_Love._

* * *

Massachusetts moaned slightly as her eyes flickered open, patterns and shapes dancing across her vision, making her feel sick. A figure in sage Spartan armour leant over her, a little gold A.I. next them.

"You feeling any better?" they asked, their voice confirming that they were male. He shifted his weight and sat back, giving her space to sit up shakily. Massachusetts shook her head, but then stopped as a sharp pain went through it.

"I...can't remember," she mumbled quietly. "In fact, I can't really remember anything. All I know is I shot a...drug lord. Downing? I was talking to someone on my shoulder...and that's all I can think of. I recognise you, but I don't know you."

"You don't know me?" the man replied, his tone one of confusion. Massachusetts nodded slowly.

"Your name...is..." she began, and then paused, trying hard to sift through her empty memories.

_Memories._

Massachusetts paused, the horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach scaring her.

"Missouri?" the man offered helpfully. Her head snapped up to look at him, her eyes wide.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I remember you. Agent Missouri, husband of...."

Her face suddenly crumpled in pain, and Missouri looked over to the A.I. on his shoulder.

"I thought you said it would help," he hissed angrily.

"It has. However, she will feel unease and hurt whenever she remembers something. This way, she will be _unwilling_ to search for the thoughts hidden from her, thus retaining her sanity," Rho replied, avoiding eye contact with him. Missouri sighed, irritated that she had left this detail out. A.I. were parasites: infecting and infesting their host, lying and tricking them into doing what they wanted. He needed to get rid of her as soon as possible, but he didn't want to give her Arkansas. Ohio had passed Rho on for a reason, it seemed. He just needed to find out why.

Massachusetts staggered forwards towards the tank opening, standing up and climbing out unsteadily. Missouri waited for a moment, and then followed her, holding out his arms in case she lost her balance and fell backwards. Arkansas nodded in her direction.

"Feeling any better?" he asked. Massachusetts looked up blankly at him, staring, and then shaking her head in confusion and turning away. Rho quickly explained what had been done to her to Iowa and Arkansas, and they nodded silently, watching her fiddle aimlessly with the settings on her visor, her eyes sightless. Suddenly a bleep went off on Iowa's suit, and he accessed it quickly.

"It appears he took advantage of us while we were at our weakest; picking off the rewards from our dead when we were distracted," Iowa said quietly, reloading the sniper rifle violently, his hands shaking slightly with anger.

"Who?" Missouri asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"The Meta."

"Meta?" Massachusetts whirled around suddenly, her expression wild, which set unease in Missouri. "I know him! He stole...he stole..."

She paused for a moment, and then let out a small cry, falling to her knees and shuddering. Missouri was at her side instantly, supporting her.

"We'll scout around and see if there is any sign of him," Arkansas said abruptly, and he and Iowa left, moving towards the base.

Massachusetts shivered. Everything was forcing its way into her mind at once...Sigma, Illinois, the Meta...she murdered Illinois in cold blood, a weak and pathetic attempt to save her own skin, before dragging the victim's husband along, lying to him, manipulating him. She realised she saw him as a friend...someone she at least _cared_ about. The barrier that surrounded the guilt and remorse of her actions suddenly collapsed, and Massachusetts felt it hit her all at once. This was more than she could handle.

"Oh my god," she whispered, and promptly broke down into tears. Missouri jumped in surprise and turned to her.

"What's wrong?" he said, alarmed that someone as tough as her..._crying_? It wasn't like she was insane anymore....

"As I said earlier," Rho mumbled inside his head, "her actions will be strange and irrational. Her sense of morality and perception will be twisted and skewed. She's probably having thoughts she had never considered in her life before, and, in her normal state of mind, would be embarrassed or angered by them."

Massachusetts glanced up at him, her lip trembling slightly, her eyes red and sore.

"I'm...so sorry, Zoura," she said sorrowfully. "For everything."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," he replied, shaking his head and standing up, before offering her a hand. She took it and allowed him to help her up, wiping her eyes, a sense of humility creeping over her. Guilt? Friendship?

"Fucking weakness," she spat, her eyes narrowing dangerously, the fury at her lack of self-control taking over. She whirled around to face Missouri, who took a step back at her sudden mood swing.

"Massa?" he said uncertainly.

"Get those two idiots on the comm., now," she snarled, her features twisted with what looked like hatred. "See if they've found anything."

At that precise moment, Arkansas radioed in, making the jittering Massachusetts jump in surprise.

"Target has been spotted heading south away from the mountains. I think he's gotten all that he's needed from here. You'll have to pursue him quickly if you hope to catch him. We'll take a Hornet and go from above."

"The tank is too big and slow to take the narrow paths," Missouri said, shaking his head. "Are there any other vehicles nearby?"

"A couple of Mongooses and a Warthog left directly on the path the Meta took. Seems the soldiers that ran into him are...no longer showing any signs of life."

"They're soldiers," Massachusetts said bluntly, "not Freelancers. I wouldn't have expected anything less of them."

Missouri glanced up edgily towards her, noticing she was twitching, breathing heavily and erratically.

"Give us the coordinates, Ark. We'll set off immediately. Want us to deactivate the tank?"

"Yeah; less risk for us then, right? I suggest you go to the armoury though and stock up. You're going to need it."

* * *

The Warthog bounced violently down the last of the mountain, Missouri spinning the wheel wildly as he went. When they had reached the jeep, he had insisted he drive, and Massachusetts didn't argue, which concerned him even more. She always wanted to drive, and would have long and weary arguments about it until he gave in. This time, however, she had meekly nodded and sat in the passenger seat, staring at her knees silently. He knew her behaviour was going to be weird, as Rho had said so several times, but to this extent. One minute she was upset, then furious, then confused, and then happy. He couldn't keep up with her.

"You should drive more often," Massachusetts said, smiling behind her visor, her head tilted back against the seat. She was coming to terms with her raging thoughts, and a gentle calm had swept over her. She felt at peace with herself, yet at the same time, no other emotion resided there. She felt empty; a dead shell...a husk. The thought scared her, and she shivered, sniffling slightly at the terrible thought of death. She was dead without Sigma anyway; why bother carrying on?

Missouri turned just in time to see Massachusetts grab the handle of the door and open it, watching with horror as she fell straight out and hit the ground at high speed, rolling along, dust clouds blooming up behind her, before settling on her still form. Missouri hit the brakes so that the Warthog squealed to a sudden stop, and then jumped out, sprinting over to her.

"Massa!" he yelled frantically, his feet pounding against the dry floor. "Rho, is she alright?"

Rho appeared by his side.

"She's fine. The armour took the impact. I think she's just lying there for lying's sake."

Massachusetts sat up as he approached, putting a hand to her sore head.

"Massa, why the hell did you do that?" he cried angrily, standing over her, satisfied the A.I.'s analysis was accurate. Massachusetts shrugged half-heartedly.

"I can't remember," she said simply, standing up with ease and ambling back over to the Warthog. Missouri watched her go, and then sighed in exasperation.

"Rho," he said quietly, "this can't go on. She's going to end up killing herself. What can we do?"

"Nothing," the A.I. replied, shrugging. "We simply wait for the effects to level out. Eventually it'll wear off altogether, and she'll need to take another dose, else the memories will gradually resurface."

"She can't be on that stuff for the rest of her life! Is there a way to remove the memories?"

"Command will know a way, as they did with Wash, but I suspect that it's more 'how to deal with it' rather than actually eradicating them. The mind is a delicate thing, and chipping away engraved details could only damage it further."

"So they smooth it over; fill in the gaps?"

"Precisely."

"Hey, Missouri!" Massachusetts yelled from the Warthog, revving it up. "Get on, quickly! We need to go catch this bastard Meta!"

She almost sounded like her normal self, so Missouri did as she asked, jogging over and climbing into the jeep gingerly. She had driven them off a cliff and into a gorge in her sane state. He only hoped her manic side was a better driver.

* * *

It had been a hell of a long day, that was for certain. Massachusetts had skidded wildly around the landscape for hours on end, hitting natural ramps and whooping every time she nearly turned the vehicle over. As time passed, her stunts got more and more daring, until, eventually, Missouri said they should rest. Again, she didn't argue, but instead lost all her boldness and became obedient and quiet. The Meta had stopped moving on the tracker as well, which indicated he needed to rest, too. Iowa had radioed in and suggested they continue on, giving the element of surprise, but Arkansas intervened. He quickly reminded them that travelling without sleep would mean they would fighting tired, which was not a good tactic against a foe such as the Meta, or indeed, any foe at all.

However, in the silence of the night, Missouri was left to brood over the events that had just come to pass. The image of Ohio, blood soaked through her white doctor's coat, staining it red, scarlet crusted on her lips and across her face, her sleek bob cut matted and wet. He replayed her final moments in his head, watching her tremble and shiver with pain and cold, her hands shakily undoing the watch on her wrist.

Could he have saved her? Could he have saved Illinois?

A picture of his wife's beautiful face flickered in front of his eyes, hovering slightly over Ohio's scene of death, the vicious bullet wound clear in his head. He clenched his fists and lowered his head, trying to contain his grief and rage. Rho appeared by his side, and for a moment, he was distracted.

He had heard that, whilst an A.I. could change its appearance at will, they tended to fashion themselves after the thoughts and feeling of another. An A.I. would look completely different being hosted by Massachusetts than if they were hosted by him. However, the change took time, and Missouri could see signs of this in Rho already. When she had been with Ohio, she was gentle looking, similar in looks to Ohio, and very quiet. Now she looked...like her body was being stretched and twisted. He limbs were thin and bony, her shoulders hunched.

"What's happened to you, Rho?" he asked her. She shrugged.

"I'm feeding off your emotions, nothing more," she replied, admiring her lengthened and sinister fingers. Her mouth had thinned out, and her eyes were gaunt, sunken into their sockets. It was almost as if she was dying.

"My emotions?" he said, bewildered, "I don't remember my emotions being about corpses!"

Was that true, though? All he could think about was the death of Annie and Lydia...his hate twisting things out of proportion. He glanced up at Rho, who was smiling at him, giving her an unintentional evil look.

"Your hate is warping you, so in turn I am, too. You think constantly about death, so I resemble that which you most hate."

"If I stop thinking about it, will you change back?"

"No," Rho said, shaking her head, "because you can't control what you think of. You'll just have to let it fade away naturally."

Missouri sighed and turned to see if Massachusetts was alright and not doing anything stupid. She was fast asleep, apparently exhausted from the day's events. Perhaps he should get some sleep, too, although he knew he wouldn't.

He didn't want to find out what lay in wait for him behind closed eyes.

_

* * *

_

Author's notes: Screw you, dearest father. I outsmarted you, asshole.


	17. AI LOG – REPORT TWENTY–SIX – MAINE

**SPOILER ALERT. GO WATCH RECONSTRUCTION, GOD DAMN IT!**

* * *

**A.I. LOG – REPORT TWENTY-SIX – MAINE**

There's blood everywhere: blood on the walls, blood on the ceiling, blood on the floor, blood on the knife.

Blood on my hands.

I can't move because I feel so numb. I'm finally giving up; I don't want to live. Maybe that was her plan all along – to break me as she was broken, to make me feel what the Alpha felt. To ruin my soul and conscience, to fill me with such self-hatred that all I wish to do is to die. She won't let me, though. She wants me to suffer, to hover, a walking corpse in this eternal hell.

I can feel it, you know – this..._thing_ in my head. I don't know how long I can hold on for, but I do know this will be my last report.

My last chance to tell the truth.

When I was first enlisted into Project Freelancer, I was promised many things: money, enhancements, abilities I could have only dreamed of before. It sounded great, and so I willingly, _blindly_ agreed to their program. I had an A.I. installed into my head.

Omicron.

Omicron was a strange A.I. in the shape of a female. She was hazy orange, and hard to define, like a shadow. Perhaps she wasn't even a woman, though her voice definitely sounded like it. I never saw her face. Her personality was difficult at times. One second she was sweet and kind, the next she could be screaming bloody murder and raging inside my head.

Have you ever had an A.I. play havoc with your mind? It is complete and utter agony, so painful and terrible that I would have given anything and everything for it to stop. Sometimes I did give everything: I let Omicron take over my body, and I would just be 'the mind', floating around, powerless, like an A.I. would. If I'm perfectly honest, it was peaceful – just hovering between consciousness and reality, and I often let her take over, if only to spare myself from torture. At first I resisted her attempts for power, often unable to move from my bed. She only ever hurt me when we were alone and it was night, so that way Command didn't suspect I was being challenged for authority inside my own head. When I eventually allowed her to take control, it was a swift bargain: a few minutes of tranquillity while she explored my form and then to leave it without struggle. She had sounded so sad; all she had wanted was to be human, even just for a few moments – to feel, to touch, to taste, and she won me over with sorrowed sympathy. When I asked her to give control back, she did so instantly.

Of course, it wasn't long before she begged again, and although I had felt slightly uneasy about it, I reminded myself she had behaved herself, and I could always force her out again if I wanted to, despite the fact it would be painful. So, she got her way again, and she left when I requested. After several of these incidents, I began to trust her, and from then on, whenever I felt a slight pressure on my head, I knew what she wanted, and I let her take over. The periods of her control got longer and longer, but I never worried about it. She just wanted a taste of humanity, nothing more. How could I deny something so innocent?

However, one night, I was woken up for a mission. I felt myself stumble out of bed and reach for my armour, clasping it on with ease, listening to the instructions as I loaded up my gun...yet I was not doing any of these things. I heard my voice reply back and forth with confirmation, yet I never once spoke. My A.I. had taken control of me as I slept, and I was powerless to stop it. I didn't know it at the time, but my mind had been weakened to such an extreme that I could no longer hold a barrier against her subconsciously. I was no longer safe asleep.

The mission went without a hitch, and I was awarded a medal for outstanding battle methods. I dumped the medal shortly afterwards, because it wasn't mine; it was Omicron's. How could I deserve something I didn't fight for? I told Omicron if she ever tried to take over in my sleep again then I would stop it altogether. Yet I felt secure in the knowledge that she always gave my body back, so there was no risk. What I didn't realise was that she was only doing so because Command would notice if she didn't let me have control regularly. Some of the more...'stupid' A.I. kept hold of the mind, retaining their dominance. The person inside disappeared altogether, and the body became an empty shell. I would like to point out here that a stupid A.I. is not the same as a stupid human. All A.I. have intelligence beyond our own, but many don't have the skill to master common sense and social restraint. Command realised what was happening, along with the blatant deaths and Washington's rampant insanity, and finally shut the program down. Some Freelancers wanted to keep their A.I., but I was part of the many that wished to be rid of theirs. However, every time I tried to voice this opinion, Omicron would not allow it. Either she forcefully took over, or she cut off my ability to speak. By this point, I couldn't fight back. If I tried to resist her authority, I was tortured with unspeakable agony. I was becoming the shell.

Command never said how they got the A.I. for the project, only that they had copied it, which was a lie anyway. When I was still part of Command, Omicron decided to break into restricted files, simply to prove she could. What she found there changed everything, and for weeks on end, she whirled endlessly around my head, causing pain and confusion, destroying parts of my precious memories in the process. I can't remember where I come from anymore. I don't know my parents' names or even what their faces are. I'm not sure about the members of my family: do I have brothers or sisters, cousins, aunties, or uncles? I can never get them back, but at least she didn't ruin my memory of Sarah.

Yet, at the same time, I wish Sarah had been wiped clean from my head. Maybe then....

Command, however, have committed horrific acts to get the A.I. They weren't copied. They were taken from the original A.I., the Alpha. This A.I. was tortured endlessly, put under stress, terror, and pain, until eventually, like a human mind would, it cracked. Each fragment of its ruined self was harvested and made into a separate 'A.I.'. Delta was the logic, Omega was the anger, Iota was the strategy, Sigma was the creativity...the list is endless. Epsilon was the memory, which was why Washington went insane. He saw and felt everything the Alpha experienced through its memories, and his mind cracked, just as the A.I.'s had. As for Omicron, she was something much worse than anger, memories, or insanity.

Omicron is the Alpha's vengeance.

When it was time to escape Command – or, rather, when my A.I. decided she didn't want to lose the only opportunity she had to get free – Omicron took over. The events are a blur, but I remember waking up in a city, driving along a highway in the dead of night, my headlights blaring. I picked through my ravaged mind, trying best to make sense of everything. Where could I go? A face, so beautiful and pure surfaced, and I turned the Warthog around, heading off the roads and towards the outskirts of the city. I parked outside a tall block of flats, still in my Spartan armour, and slowly made my way up the endless flights of stairs, being too heavy to use the elevator. I knocked on the door, and my fiancée, Sarah Fisher, opened it. She called me by a name I didn't recognise, for Omicron had destroyed that part of me as well, and beckoned me in, helping me out of my armour. We made love that night, so wonderful, the first bit of kindness I had received in a long time.

However, when I explained to her over the days what had happened, and how Omicron could take over me whenever she wanted, I saw the look in Sarah's face. It was something I felt myself: fear, fear for _me._ What could I do, though? I was too far gone to fight back, and even if I did, the A.I. lived inside my head. She knew my every move before I'd even thought it.

Not long afterwards, the violence began.

Omicron was moody at the best of times, but around Sarah, she became abusive and dangerous. I often attacked her in blind rage, watching with despair as my fist pummelled into her stomach, bruising her beautiful skin, marring her perfect face. Yet Sarah stayed by me, despite it all. Maybe she loved me so much she could look past the nature of Omicron.

Or maybe she was just plain afraid. I know I was.

When she announced that she was pregnant, I was overjoyed, but it broke my heart to see her trembling like a leaf as I was given the news. Then I felt it: Omicron stirring underneath. I tried to warn her to run, but the transition was so quick that all I could do was choke. Sarah knew, though, and she turned to escape. The A.I. was quicker, however, and she grabbed Sarah's hair, dragging her back...pulling her...punching...her...stomach.

The next day I heard her anguished wails from the bathroom, which continued long into the night. One could say it was grief over the loss over the baby, but I know better. She was mourning for the loss of her life. She and I were prisoner to a computer program, and there was nothing we could do.

Sarah tried, though.

She told me a week later she was breaking off our engagement. She wasn't safe in her own home any more, and she was contacting Command to collect Omicron and I. Part of me was grateful that I was finally ridding myself of the parasite, but the other side of me was sparked with anger. She was leaving me? This was not my fault!

I think she realised her mistake at the last second, but it was too late. Omicron, delighted by the feast of rare fury, fed greedily on it, bringing me to my knees in pure agony. I then watched as my body stood up, advancing menacingly on the retreating Sarah. My hand reached for a knife, clasping itself loving around the handle, before bringing itself up, slashing Sarah across the chest. Sarah stared down at the huge gash in her body, her lip trembling as a shaking hand reached up and touched the wound. Omicron then made her move, leaping on top of her victim so that they both went crashing to the floor, and I watched helplessly as the knife plunged into Sarah's flailing body repeatedly, cleaving her flesh into ribbons as Omicron carelessly hacked and slashed, as if my fiancée was meat for the butcher's slab.

When I finally came around, I awoke to a room painted red. For some reason, I don't really feel anything about this, just a sense of finality and emptiness. I want to die, but I know I can't. I think Omicron succeeded in removing the majority of my humanity and replacing it with herself. Occasionally, when I try to talk, my throat spasms and a series of low-pitched snarls come out.

I already know all of the A.I.'s plans. She is collecting all of the other A.I., massing them together and using them to find the Alpha, before finally reuniting them. Once that is done, the Alpha will be unstoppable – fuelled with hate and vengeance, ready to rip apart Command from the roots. I am the puppet, the transport of this operation. There is one thing that surprises me, though.

I am willing.

**A.I. LOG -TERMINATED-**


	18. Blades, Loneliness, And Rho’s

**Blades, Loneliness, And Rho's Guesstimate**

Massachusetts slammed her foot down hard on the pedal, the engine of the Warthog revving up, before shooting forward, jolty an edgy Missouri from his sleep. He had kept himself awake as long as he could in the previous night, but eventually exhaustion won, and he had fallen into an uneasy slumber, filled with playback scenes of Illinois and Ohio.

Rho appeared on his visor, her appearance surprising him. Her frame was still twisted and crippled, but now the softness of her face had also left her, replaced by a harsh, mean look, as if she was in a constant bad temper. When she spoke, however, her voice was the complete opposite of her features.

"Good morning, Zoura," she said pleasantly, hunched by her painfully bent spine. "I received a call from Arkansas and Iowa; it seems the Meta is close to an old, abandoned base of theirs, where they ran A.I. and Freelancer operations. There appears to have been recent activity, though, with two unidentified A.I. present, a detonation countdown, and some simulation troops breaking things in general."

"It's an early start!" Massachusetts whooped, weaving in and out of rocks with one hand, the headlights picking out the obstacles in the dark, causing Missouri to clutch the dashboard and groan.

_She seems a lot better than yesterday_, he said inwardly to Rho. The A.I. nodded, bringing up some statistics in his visor.

"She is still vulnerable at this stage, and could have strange moments at any time, but her brain activity has calmed down considerably since the drug was administered," Rho said, pointing to various bars on a chart. Missouri blinked.

"I thought you gave her medicine?" he asked sharply.

"All medicines are a form of drug. I apologise for the technical term."

"You don't need to keep saying sorry all the time, you know."

"Sorr-I mean, OK."

Missouri laughed, but then remembered he was meant to be hating the little hologram. He didn't want her..._it_.

It struck him that the A.I. could probably hear his every word, and he glanced over to see if he had hurt her feelings. It looked as though she hadn't even registered it, however, and he sighed in relief. Then he groaned.

_A.I. don't have emotions! It's a computer program, for Christ's sake!_

"You know," Rho said suddenly, "whilst I don't mind you despising me in every way possible, I can technically register emotion...artificially, of course, through my emotion core."

"Well, disable it, then," Missouri growled, turning to look out of the window, before remembering that _it_ was in his visor. "Get out of my sight!"

Massachusetts jumped and looked over to her friend.

"What?" she said, troubled. She stared at Zoura. He looked ill with his helmet off; his skin was pale, and he had dark shadows under his eyes. He was even getting grey hairs, although she wondered why the hell she was paying that much attention to his hair colour.

"I feel like shit," he sighed, scratching his head. "And I couldn't sleep last night."

"Well, first you need to _rest_, and then you need to pull yourself together."

Missouri glanced up at her, blinking.

"Of course," he replied sarcastically, "why did I not think of it before? I'll just _sleep_ and _get over it_, like normal people do! I'll just-"

Massachusetts reached into the medical bag Ohio had give them and pulled out a small spray bottle, before lifting it up and squirting it in his face. Missouri's eyes widened, and then he fell forward onto the dashboard, unconscious. Massachusetts smiled, glad that Rho had tipped her off about the spray, and then tossed it back in the bag.

"I fucking called it," she said happily, before speeding up the jeep once more.

* * *

"Is he still dead to the world?"

"It would appear so, yes."

"Man, you should have warned me about the strength of that shit."

Massachusetts poked Missouri's head a few more times with the barrel of the gun, watching his face slide along the dashboard, before sighing and moving away, climbing out of the Warthog. She put the gun back in her holster and stretched her arms out in front of her. Then she turned to Rho, who was hovering slightly above Missouri.

"When he wakes up I want you to give him my coordinates," Massachusetts said, moving to the Warthog and replacing her pistol with an assault rifle. "I'm going to scout this area...the Meta has been here at some point. I need to know where he may be headed next. Perhaps he left clues."

"Possibly," the A.I. agreed, nodding her golden head. "I will do as you ask...if he wakes up. Be careful, Massachusetts."

The Freelancer laughed, pulling out a handheld device from the back of the jeep. She moved her arm outwards and an energy blade erupted from the handle.

"With this motherfucker, I'll be fine."

With that, she retracted the blade and placed it on her hip, before walking down the beach, the waves lapping around her silver-grey armour, her feet leaving deep prints in the yellow-brown sand. The structure before her was magnificent; a huge, industrialised fortress, surrounded by crumbling, sandstone ruins, and a brilliant beach slowly eating away at the rock.

Massachusetts walked around a corner, and then turned and stared at the eternal stretch of water for what seemed like an age. She hadn't seen the ocean in years, not since she was a little girl, back home before she left for the army. She missed those times of innocence; a moment in her life when she didn't have murder on her hands, where she didn't lead a lonely, empty existence, craving for a computer program because that was the only company she had. She didn't have to pretend to be cold and emotionless just to live with herself every day. That was the problem, though: in putting on the mask of a killer, she had become that mask, and the real Massachusetts had been lost in the act. At one time, she truly didn't care if she took away a person's right to life. It was entertainment to her, nothing more.

However, Missouri had changed all of that. He had shown her compassion, friendship, and a reason to give the same to others. She even considered him her friend. Yet he had changed her way of life, made her feel guilt for the crimes she had committed, the sins she had made. He was slowly but surely making her see the errors of her ways, and for that, she hated him.

Massachusetts shook her head. He hadn't changed her completely yet. There was still a dark side to her; the cold-hearted, bloodthirsty killer lurked underneath it all, and it was livid that sentiment and sorrow was getting in the way.

The Freelancer sighed. Everything was so confusing at the moment. Rho had explained what had happened with her memories, and while she was pissed that her thoughts had been fucked up, along with her perception on least whatever had caused Rho and Missouri to administer the drug in the first place was gone...for now. She stared out at the steel-grey water for a few minutes, wishing more than anything she could just go home. That was impossible, though. Her parents were extreme pacifists, and always tried to bring up her and her brother, Frank, in a neutral, unimposing environment. Massachusetts had always thought it stupid, and even more so when her older brother was mercilessly bullied throughout school. She always defended him, often with violence, which meant Frank was teased about having a girl look after him. He never once rose up to it, though, their parents' brainwashing meaning he always tried to solve things with peaceful words. It wasn't long before he ended up in hospital, battered within an inch of his life by drunken idiots on the street.

Inside the hospital, though, she remembered Frank being impressed with the doctors and staff. When he left, he had vowed to become one of them. He made it to medical school, but then failed his exams, making him a dropout. Massachusetts hated her parents for pushing him so much. He wanted to help people...but he had never been any good at it. In the end, he drafted into the army as a medic. She, on the other hand, went over to the medical school and set fire to a large section of it.

After being hauled in by the police and having her parents call her a disgrace, she had a choice: a severe fine and prison sentence, no fine, but a seriously long prison stretch, or joining the army.

Massachusetts couldn't believe her luck.

She had dreamed of joining the army, if only to defy her parents, and there she was being _forced_ into it?

She chose the army option immediately, but _they_ said that a girl couldn't join. They'd rather pay the fine and see her in prison, simply because they didn't like fighting. After much begging and persuading on Massachusetts' part, however, they had agreed to let her go, as long as she didn't fight. So, Massachusetts signed up as a medic and technician alongside her brother. However, they were separated when she was sent to the Freelancer project. There she met Tex, who made her realise that guns were awesome. When she switched her career options, her parents cut all contact with her. When she fled base, she lost Frank, too, and hadn't heard from him since.

She glanced one last time at the beautiful sky, the rising sun turning the dark into an artist's masterpiece of gold, purple, orange, blue, pink, and yellow, before striding up towards the abandoned base. She passed through the huge stone archway, and stared up in amazement at the gigantic, vertical fan, its razor-sharp, metal blades scraping menacingly along its frame. Behind it was a tall building, with turrets and stairs place in open spaces.

_Someone needs to rethink their defences_, Massachusetts thought to herself, shaking her head at the stupidity of the design. She strode around the oversized fan, admiring the strength of the metalwork, and then walked up the steel stairs, reaching the second floor of the complex and going inside.

* * *

Missouri groaned and sat up, his head spinning.

"Where am I?"

"You are currently outside an old Freelancer base, which became known as 'Last Resort' when the Freelancers broke from Command," Rho said, appearing by his shoulder.

"Why Last Resort?" he asked, rubbing his forehead with his knuckles in an attempt to ease the pain from when he had collapsed on the dashboard with his face.

"Because this was their final fallback plan; the only place they could go. There was a huge battle here, and the Freelancers won. Command retreated, and they all got away; the ones who were alive, anyway."

"Do you think Massa fought here?"

"Possibly, although I doubt she remembers, due to the drug. Which reminds me, she went ahead to explore. I suggest you follow."

Missouri nodded and reached over the back seat, picking up the bag of medical supplies, before climbing out of the Warthog.

"Louis?" Rho said suddenly, causing him to wince at the sound of his own name. The last person to call him that had been Annie.

"Yes?" he replied, standing still, leaning against the jeep.

"Well...I was looking through some of your memories...and a lot of things don't add up. Why is it that you told Massachusetts you were sent to detain Washington, yet Arkansas said _he_ had been, and you knew nothing about his experience?"

Missouri sighed. He hated the fact that she helped herself to his thoughts.

"Firstly," he snapped, "don't read through my mind like it's a book again, OK? Ask my damn permission next time."

Rho nodded timidly, and Missouri carried on.

"As for Wash, I was sent to detain him before he fled Command. When I got there, he was crazy, and managed to escape. He left shortly after the first Freelancer did, and Command gave orders to capture the rebels. I was sent to go after Wash a second time, but when I heard that the first Freelancer had been Tex, I knew that once Wash had been dealt with, I'd be sent after her. That would have been suicide. Also, I wanted to protect Illinois, who was desperate to keep her A.I. with her, so, I left. I dealt with Wash once and failed, and I decided not to do it again. Happy now?"

"Yes, I am, Louis," Rho said quietly. Missouri scowled.

"Don't call me that."

"I'm sorry; I forgot that you only allow the people you care about the most to call you that. Annie and Lydia?"

"Will you just shut up, or I'll rip your A.I. slot from my head right now!" he snarled. "Let's go find Massa!"

* * *

It was as Massachusetts approached the badly placed turret and took hold of it, a searing pain cut across her head, sending her to the ground. Images of war flashed wildly around her, and she gasped, remembering the day when the Freelancers had made their final stand. She had been there, right in the centre of it, fighting for her life as wave after wave of Command's forces attacked, killing her comrades, injuring her in several places and scarring her memories and dreams for months on end. At the end of the two month siege, when Command had finally retreated, Massachusetts had stayed in the fortress, recovering. She had been one of the first to leave the safety of its walls, though, knowing that staying in the same place for too long was dangerous. Eventually, one by one or in small groups, the Freelancers left, until only a few remained. Command attacked again, and they were either shot or captured.

How could she have forgotten such an important and traumatising event of her life?

Massachusetts pulled herself to her feet as Missouri came up the stairs and saw her. He ran over, worried, and began checking she was alright.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, attempting to wave him away. "It's just that drug...I remembered...something...."

"The Meta's not here, Massa," Missouri said, looking down and checking his Recovery equipment. "He's further north, near a Recovery beacon...the Dakotas, it seems."

"Right, well, we'd better get the hell back to our jeep, right?" Massachusetts said, turning and jogging unsteadily back down the stairs and outside. As she moved across the open space, though, Missouri by her side, an unfamiliar sound made her whip sharply around, the sword in her hand pointed at the source of the noise.

"Blarg."

The two Freelancers stared at the strange creature, speechless. It was stood upright, or at least as far as its legs would allow, as the knees bent backwards to that of a human, making it a digitigrade. It was about eight feet in height, and had a quadruple-hinged jaw, with an upper jaw and four mandibles lined with sharp, pointed teeth. Its hands had only two middle fingers and two opposing thumbs.

"What the fuck is that?" Massachusetts said loudly, not liking the way the creature was eyeing her sword.

"I think it's an alien," Missouri said, staring as two more joined it. The original alien wore purple armour, one wore dark green, and the last, a deep red.

"Blarg. HONK," said the green alien. Massachusetts decided to name each one after their colour.

"What? I don't understand a word you're saying!"

"Blarg! Blarg blarg HONK blarg!" Red cried, seemingly getting irritable, although Massachusetts wasn't how she could tell this from a creature that had a face like a squid.

"HONK, blarg blarg, HONK!" Purple continued, waving his arms about. Massachusetts sighed.

"Hey, wait, I forgot!" Missouri said suddenly.

"Blarg!"

"The Recovery equipment comes with a translator!" the Freelancer said, pulling out what looked like a small, black microphone and holding it to Green's face.

"...Blarg?"

There was a small beep, and Missouri moved the translator away, fiddling with the settings until the translation came through.

"What does it say?" Massachusetts said, taking the device off Missouri, whose face was one of disbelief. She stared at the translation, blinking.

_Translation: ...Blarg._

"Blarg?" she shouted. "_That's_ the translation? _Blarg!_ What the hell does Command spend all its money on?"

Rho appeared calmly next to Missouri's shoulder.

"I can make a clean translation, although it will not be word for word," she offered. Massachusetts nodded quickly, and Rho turned to the alien, before motioning for it to speak.

"Blarg HONK blarg blarg blarg! Blarg! HONK HONK HONK! Blarg!"

"Hmm," Rho said after a moment of thought. "At a guesstimate-"

"A guesstimate?" Missouri interrupted, staring at the golden A.I. in his visor.

"Yes, a guesstimate."

Missouri shrugged, letting Rho carry on.

"It seems they sent one of their comrades down here to pick up a sword. According to them, he was so stupid that he thought he was a messiah or something. What they really wanted him to do was collect the remnants of an alien sword shipment that was accidently dropped on Earth. They got all but two. One was found here, and another was stolen and taken into private keeping. The one down here, however, was picked up by some 'Aquamarine Shisno' and now they can't get it back."

"And the other?" Massachusetts asked, suddenly realising where this was going.

"...The other is in your hand."

"Great."

A file popped up on Missouri's visor, and he accessed it, scanning it over. It was Massachusetts' statistics, and her brain activity was going haywire.

"They say you must give it them immediately," Rho said, "or else you will have your spleen pulled out through your mouth."

"Oh, really?" Massachusetts replied, her tone dangerous.

"Blarg."

The Freelancer grinned behind her visor, and then raised the sword.

_Shit_, thought Missouri.

"Go fuck yourselves, squid faces!" she yelled, before swinging the sword out, cleaving through Green so that purple blood sprayed out everywhere. The alien let out a shriek of agony, and his comrades ran forward, ready to attack the dirty Shisno, but Massachusetts was ready for them. Within seconds, she had cut them down, too.

"Time to go, I think," she said placidly, and strolled away. Missouri stared at the aliens that were in agony, and then shuddered, before running after his friend.

"I hate to bring bad news," Rho said suddenly, "but it appears the aliens sent an automatic distress signal out when they were attacked. A ship is headed this way, and it appears to be following a beacon given out by the sword. The ship automatically targets whoever held it last. Looks like we'll have to put our Meta hunt on hold."

Massachusetts stopped abruptly.

"I can't do that," she said, shaking her head. "I need Sigma back."

Missouri turned to face the dead aliens behind them, and sighed. What could they do? It was an impossible situation. Maybe if they-

A sudden click of a gun being loaded made Missouri slowly turn around, to see Massachusetts pointing a pistol at him. He had forgotten she always carried a spare.

"Drop your weapons. Throw them behind me," she ordered, and Missouri quickly obeyed.

"Massa," he said as calmly as he could, "look, you're behaving erratically, I know. It's because of the drug, but this is _not_ the answer."

Massachusetts lowered the pistols slightly, and looked at him. Missouri sighed.

"I knew you wouldn't, Massa. You're not like that."

A sudden spark of rage flashed before her eyes, and the lurking killer in her soul dragged itself back from the depths of herself. Massachusetts raised the pistol again and shot Missouri in both of his kneecaps. He fell over in agony, clutching at the ruined mess that used to be his legs, and screamed out.

"How...could you do that?" he blurted out, between yells. "We're meant to be a team; we're meant to be avenging my wife's death! Get the Meta together, you said!"

Massachusetts said nothing for a moment, and then sighed, shaking her head.

"That...never happened," she admitted, the statistics in Missouri's visor jumping wildly about the place, indicating that the drug was at its worst moment.

"What do you mean 'it never happened'?" Missouri spat, clenched his teeth in an attempt to contain the pain. "My wife was shot in the head! I _know _it happened, and there was no one else there...but..."

Missouri's voice trailed off as realisation hit him. He looked up at Massachusetts, the agony suddenly numbing away.

"You...killed...Lydia?" he whispered, stunned.

"She blackmailed me into letting her stay in my home. Then the Meta cornered us. I...shot her...in hopes that the Meta would go for her body and allow Sigma and I to escape."

Missouri didn't even seem to hear her.

"All she wanted was a safe place to stay. A safe place to stay? Was that so much to ask for?" Missouri hissed, his voice rising in volume with each word.

"You..._murdered_ my _beautiful_ wife, because she asked to be safe! You fucking bitch! I'll fucking _kill_ you!"

Missouri suddenly threw himself forward, ignoring the blistering pain in his legs, making a swing for Massachusetts. She quickly jumped back, hitting him around the head with her gun.

The world went black.

Massachusetts picked him up and threw him down into a pit in front of the deadly fan, before tossing the sword in after him. It would buy her some time, at least, just in case the aliens decided to go after her anyway. She saw he was beginning to come around, squinting up at her. Massachusetts turned away, starting to walk back down the beach, Missouri's Recovery unit and radio in hand, when the Freelancer's voice echoed from his pit.

"Epsilon and memories, Massachusetts! Epsilon and memories!"

Almost instantly, a crippling pain shot through her body, and the flood of images she had blocked crashed back into her head. She staggered to the Warthog, leaning on it, waiting for it to stop, realising this was exactly what Missouri wanted, for her to suffer. Thoughts of hate, guilt, and grief whirled around her mind, and she clutched the Warthog door in an effort to support herself. Suddenly, a blurring white image flashed across her vision, and she cried out, falling to the floor heavily, lying there and twitching violently, unable to get up. When it eventually subsided, she dragged herself shakily to her feet, and clambered unsteadily to the jeep, shaking. It was gone, for now, but she knew it would be back. She started up the engine and quickly drove away, leaving Missouri for the aliens to find and kill.

* * *

Missouri blearily opened his eyes, the back of his head throbbing. He rose and hand to it, feeling the wet, sticky patch where it was bleeding, and looked up to see the bitch, Massachusetts, ambling away.

He wasn't going to let her go so easily.

"Epsilon and memories, Massachusetts! Epsilon and memories!" he bellowed, his throat hurting as he shrieked out his final vengeance. He heard her shout in surprise, followed by a thud, and he knew she had remembered. Missouri smiled sadistically, and glanced at the sword in his hand, before tossing it away. It had been worth it, bringing those terrible nightmares back to Massachusetts, but it wasn't enough. He would kill her, slowly and painfully, but first he had to get out of here, a task that seemed impossible now that his legs were crippled. Ignoring the splintering pain that was in his knees, he leant forward and pulled himself onto his stomach, before dragging himself along the length of the pit, looking for a low dip in the stonework to pull himself out. There was none, and he lay down on the floor, despairing. He had to get himself to higher ground, but how?

Missouri turned over onto his side, wincing as he jolted his knees, and pulled the medical bag off his waist. He rooted through it frantically, trying to see if he could locate something to help the pain. Rho appeared on his shoulder, looking down into the bag with mild interest.

"Is there any Aloe Vera in there?" she asked.

_

* * *

_

Author's notes: Well, I got Blood Gulch Chronicles and Reconstruction DVDs off my boyfriend for Christmas, as well as the 'It's not pink, it's lightish Red' t-shirt.

_8D_

_Also, for those who didn't notice straight away...take the first letter of each word of this title and put them together._

_XD_

_Leilah._

_P.S. I now have a blog. If you want to read my thoughts on real life stuff, writing, or general rambling crap, check out my homepage on my profile._

_P.P.S I am very much aware of the cliché halfway through the story, but whatever, it's intentional and I like it._

_P.P.P.S. I was originally going to have Massa's sword be the one Tucker found, but then i realised we'd already passed that moment._


	19. Scars, Command

**Scars, Command, and Shitty Landslides**

Massachusetts moved silently around the edges of the empty facility, watching the two Freelancers below, her loaded gun in hand. There were many abandoned bases left over after the Freelancers broke away from Command, and several still contained details on some of the Agents. The Meta was here, using the old databases to determine its next target. She crept forward, trying to hear what Agent Washington and South Dakota were saying. If they had a plan to draw the Meta out, they could possibly manipulate it and use it to her own advantage.

"In the last month, I've been ordered to the sites of five different dying Freelancers in an effort to recover their intelligence programs," Washington said to South Dakota, a strange green glow next to him, just out of Massachusetts' line of sight.

"Why you?" The purple Agent asked. Massachusetts moved along the wall, trying to get a better view of the green thing. However, a voice rang out, clear as day, and she knew instantly what was causing the light.

"Agent Washington's experience with the Epsilon program makes him a primary candidate for recovery," replied Delta, making the hiding Freelancer gasp. They still had Delta?

"Epsilon?" South Dakota exclaimed, waving her gun. "Epsilon went insane and killed itself _inside his head!_ And from what I heard from the other recruits, he went nuts himself. Weren't you certified Article Twelve after that? Unfit for duty."

Washington shrugged his shoulder.

"The people who certified me were the same people that _un_certified me. Which, once they needed me, they did. Funny how the system works."

"In either case, he is the logical choice. It is highly unlikely Wash would attempt to steal an A.I. for his own purposes," Delta concluded.

"Every Freelancer I've seen in the last four weeks has had three things in common: their A.I. was missing - but Delta here was left somehow; I think that was a fluke."

"My assignee was killed in an unrelated fire fight."

Massachusetts winced, remembering the feeling of York's body going cold beneath hers. She stopped listening for a moment, distracted by her memories. Then she collected herself again. She needed to find out what they knew about the Meta. It seemed as if Washington hadn't heard of it yet, which was strange. Then again, rebel Freelancers were always well informed of Command's enemies.

"...Freelancers are being killed, South. And someone, or some_thing_ is stealing their A.I. and enhancements."

"And now Agent Washington is trying to escort us back to headquarters as quickly as possible-" Delta began, but he was interrupted.

"No. I'm not," Washington said bluntly. Delta looked over at him.

Excuse me?

"We don't need to. I've been following the trail of this thing for a while now. But once I got you, Delta, that changed. Now _we_'re the ones being followed. South being left alive was nothing more than bait to slow me down. This thing has already killed four different Freelancers, South."

"All agents with higher battle ratings than Wash."

"Yes, thank you for pointing that out Delta," Washington replied sharply, frowning at the A.I.'s words. One of them was Massachusetts, although he hadn't been the one to collect. Another Recovery Agent was assigned to her beacon whilst he was on his way to York's, only they disappeared off the map. Apparently, Recovery Three had rebelled, but as to why, Washington didn't know. Massachusetts had disappeared as well, and as her whole base had collapsed, Command had assumed she was buried under the rubble, her beacon too damaged to work anymore. Illinois' body had been dug up not long ago, and Washington suspected Massachusetts had something to do with the bullet wound in her head. He also had a hunch she wasn't dead, either, and that Recovery Three was actually trapped under the base, his Recovery Unit stolen by the person he'd gone to help.

Had he not suffered mental difficulties, thanks to Sigma, he may have reached York much earlier, meaning he would have been available for Massachusetts' beacon. He ended up taking several days to reach his target instead. Then he had to drive to the other side of the country to get to South, which took even longer.

"I'm not going to be able to take it out by myself," Washington continued. "Someone has to help me, protect Delta as well."

"I see now. That is why you want me to implant in South."

"Excuse me?" South Dakota asked, stunned. "In who?"

"The only way to properly protect me in combat is to integrate me in to your armour," Delta explained. "Agent Washington will not allow me to do that."

"And somebody has to," Washington added.

"I can't, a-I haven't been _rated_ for implantation," she stammered, unable to believe it.

"Well, make up your mind quickly," he replied. "It's here."

"My motion sensors-" Delta began, but Washington cut him off.

"Are going to be useless. South, get Delta in your head now, and flank left. We have to stand against this thing here-"

Massachusetts sat perched on the wall, looking at the area Washington was staring at. She couldn't see anything. Suddenly, a rocket was fired, flying straight over Washington's shoulder. Quickly, Massachusetts moved around, trying to get a better view of the attacker. She was vaguely aware of South Dakota attempting to get Delta inside her head, but paid little attention. She tried to edge closer to the firefight, and watched as South Dakota staggered over to Washington, who was calling for her, the A.I. in her head clearly taking its toll.

"Wash, I'm here," the purple Freelancer said, moving behind Washington and firing her weapon, both of them crouched next to a crate for cover.

"Good, I need help on the left. This guy moves fast, so keep your eyes open," he replied.

_Thanks to my speed enhancement,_ Massachusetts thought bitterly. Washington looked slightly over his shoulder when his ally didn't reply.

"South, you okay?"

"She is experiencing difficulty with my presence," Delta said.

"_How_ difficult?"

"Patient has trouble-"

"I'm fine!" South Dakota cried, aiming her weapon at the target. "Let's get this guy."

"No," Washington said bluntly.

"_**No?"**_

"See that ship? You get to it and take off. Get yourself and more importantly Delta back to base. I'll cover you as best I can."

"Wash, is your armour adequately compensating for your wounds? " Delta asked, scanning through Washington's statistics.

"You're hit?" the purple Freelancer asked, glancing down at him. Washington shook his head.

"Just twice, I'm fine. Movement on twos. On my mark: sync."

"But-" South Dakota began, but he interrupted her urgently.

"_Sync!"_

"Sync!" she replied, knowing she was better off doing as he said.

"Move!"

Massachusetts watched as Washington ran out from his cover, ready to put himself at risk to get South Dakota and Delta out to safety. Then she saw the purple Freelancer raise her weapon and fire, gunning Washington down.

"Alarm! Friendly target, cease fire," Delta said loudly. South Dakota shook her head.

"Calm down; just stacking the deck in our favour," she muttered, and then approached the Meta. Massachusetts realised she had betrayed Washington so that she could get away.

"That little bitch!" she whispered to herself, as the Meta ran to Washington's body, while South Dakota fled to the aircraft so she could escape. Then Massachusetts felt slightly guilty. Hadn't she done exactly the same thing, yet now someone else was doing it, she hated it?

Whatever she thought about herself, now was not the time. Washington might still be alive. The Meta was not going to get hold of anything. As the aircraft overhead flew away, Massachusetts jumped down and charged towards the white figure crouched over the fallen Freelancer. She half expected the Meta to see her and open fire. What she didn't expect to see was a faint, orange hologram and an even fainter purple one hovering over his head.

"Sig!" Massachusetts yelled, opening fire. The Meta looked up, reaching for his gun, but then paused, looking up to the sky. Then he turned and fled, his speed astonishing. It appeared, combined with the other Freelancer equipment, the speed enhancement's effect was greatly increased. Massachusetts ran to Washington's side and kneeled down. She could go after Sigma now...but this was far more important. Taking a deep breath, she activated Washington's healing unit, before doing the only other thing she could.

She called Command.

* * *

Massachusetts eyed the approaching soldiers warily, her silver armour illuminated by the green glow of Washington's active healing aid. One of them, with the medic insignia on his basic uniform, held his hands up to show he wasn't armed, and then moved forward, kneeling down by the fallen Recovery Agent. Massachusetts watched as the soldier removed the armour plating, and then attempting to roll him over. She sighed and kneeled down, helping him. The medic looked up and nodded in silent thanks, before pulling several slender, metallic tools from a pouch on his belt and cutting away the skin-tight suit that covered Washington's body. Massachusetts shivered. All over the unconscious Freelancer's skin were horrendous scars, and she realised they were self-inflicted. Was Epsilon's insanity so extreme that it drove him to gouging chunks out of himself? The medic leant over, easing a sterilised tool into one of the many bullet wounds, and with a speed that surprised Massachusetts, removed a small, bloodstained piece of metal.

It was some time before the medic stepped away. He looked grim.

"I've done all I can," he said, turning to his superior. "At least now he can be moved without risk of further injury. However, there are still a few bullets near his vital organs that I didn't dare risk touching. It would be incredibly dangerous, especially in this open, unsterilized area."

The officer nodded and signalled for the other men to come closer. Massachusetts watched Washington lifted and wrapped tightly in strange, white blankets, which, when she asked, turned out to be a new practice: it kept the wounds protected from dirt and infection. Then he was lifted onto a stretcher and taken onto a nearby helicopter, several soldiers following with his armour, before being airlifted out. When the roar of its blades faded away into the distance, Massachusetts glanced over to the officer, who was staring at her.

"Yes?" she asked, not liking his expression at all. The officer smiled at her pleasantly.

"Whilst Command is grateful that you brought Agent Washington's condition to our attention, we simply cannot overlook your crimes. You stole military property: the A.I. Sigma, and murdered countless Command officials in the process…not to mention the hundreds of illegal activities you have assisted with over the year. I heard you even assassinated the ruler of a communist country. Either way, Command is willing to cover these little…details up, provided you cooperate with us and allow yourself to be detained until further notice."

Massachusetts sighed.

"You know," she said heavily, "I was expecting this."

"Yet still you called us? Very noble."

"I'm about to be even more noble. You know as well as I do that I am not going to 'come quietly' with you. I'm guessing you actually planned on it, which is why you have all the extra soldiers. I mean, it's much easier just to kill a Freelancer off and claim it was necessary, rather than arrest me, keep me in a cell, go through all the bastard paperwork, and then send me to court. Am I right?"

"Yes, true, but I don't see how you realising all of this is 'noble'," the officer replied, snorting.

"Usually I'd just kill you all for trying, but I'm going to give you a chance. I'm going to run like hell, and I'm not going to shoot back. I've changed…I don't want more deaths on my hands that could have been avoided."

The officer rolled his eyes.

"Well, thank you for making our job so much easier," he said, grinning and raising his gun. Massachusetts jumped forward, swinging her pistol and knocking the officer's own out of his hand, before cracking him across the face with it. He hit the floor, clutching at his broken nose and fractured jaw, blood gushing from between his fingers, and looked up at her.

"I said I wouldn't shoot," she said acidly, and then turned on her heel, sprinting towards her Warthog. Immediately, the soldiers opened fire, but she had already dived into the jeep, firing up the engine. She put her foot down on the pedal, and the Warthog shot forward, running over a group of soldiers who had tried to block her way. She winced as they rolled over the windscreen, the snapping of bones clearly audible over the jeep's motor. A few Warthogs attempted to drive after her, but a well tossed grenade on a rocky ledge brought upon a blockade of boulders, preventing Command from pursuing after her.

Sighing, Massachusetts placed the Recovery unit back in the dashboard of the jeep, waiting to see if she had lost the Meta for good. Surprisingly, his tag came up immediately. It seemed as though he had taken her lack of pursuit as her giving up, and so had slowed his attempts to escape.

"Idiot," she snorted, pressing hard on the pedal with her foot.

* * *

Within hours, the Meta was in sight, attempting to get away on Washington's Warthog. Quickly, Massachusetts pulled off a plasma grenade from her belt, one of the few things she had salvaged from the ruined mountain base. She had come into contact with Arkansas and Iowa since she had disposed of Missouri. They asked where he was, to which she replied 'K.I.A.', lying through her teeth. Killed In Action? She had murdered him, once again to save her own skin, the same way she had done to his wife. She had endured many sleepless, guilt riddled nights since she had left Last Resort, wondering whether or not the alien creatures had found Missouri. Still, eventually she would get Sigma back, and then things would return to normal. She would need no one, and start rebuilding her old, mercenary life again.

For now, though, she needed all the help she could get. Arkansas had given his condolences over Missouri, and then pinpointed the Meta's location for Massachusetts, giving exact coordinates. He had warned her that Agent Washington was in the area, however, and that Command could be nearby. She had given her thanks, and had not spoken to him since.

Massachusetts clicked the activation button on the grenade as she drew level with the other Warthog, and then tossed it on the backseat, before breaking quickly. The Meta turned and saw the danger, jumping out of his vehicle just in time; a few seconds later, it exploded. Massachusetts watched as her enemy was flung across the dusty ground, blue erupting behind him, the Warthog spinning magnificently in the, before landing heavily, completely broken. She stepped out of her own jeep, picking up the gravity hammer and holding it aloft.

"You've nowhere left to go, Maine," she called out, taking a step forward. "Give me Sigma, and we can leave each other in peace."

She watched as he ran over to the Warthog, and she shook her head. It was on fire; did he not know when to give up?

Then she took a step back as he picked up the wreck of metal, before turning around and throwing it at her. Massachusetts swung out with the hammer, hitting the flying car dead on, but then yelling in surprise as the sheer force behind the weapon tore it from her grasp, sending it spinning high into the air with incredible speed. Both she and the Meta watched as it shot up like a rocket, before tumbling gracefully down and slamming into the side of a grey cliff. The rock crumbled, and the hammer bounced off, ricocheting violently all around the cliff face. Suddenly, the whole thing collapsed, and the two Freelancers found themselves facing a massive landslide.

"Well, _shit_," Massachusetts said.

For a few moments, all she could do was watch the rush of stone cascade towards her. Then she snapped to her sense, and sprinted to the Warthog, revving up the engine.

"Maine!" she yelled out, and he looked at her, tilting his head to one side. "Get the fuck in! You have my A.I., and I'm not losing her! We can settle our shit later!"

The Meta paused momentarily, and then leapt into the passenger seat. Massachusetts hit the pedal, and they set off, the deal wave of rock looming menacingly on them. Then Massachusetts spotted a gorge. She always seemed to encounter them nowadays, and she grinned behind her visor. This was just like the old days with her and Sigma. The Meta realised at the last second what she was going to do, and tried to take hold of the steering wheel, just as the wheels left the edge and they hurtled through the air, the landslide rushing down into the gorge behind them.

"We're gonna make it!" Massachusetts yelled happily, while the Meta merely clung to the Warthog door and said nothing. As they hit the other side, though, they over rotated, flipping over and rolling across the landscape, being mercilessly rattled around inside the jeep. It flipped again and they were both thrown out, skidding heavily along the floor, their armour making an unpleasant scraping noise as they went.

For a moment, Massachusetts was silent, unable to believe she was alive. Then she sat up, pulling her pistol from its holster.

"Now," she said, pointing the gun at the Meta's head, "where were we?"

_

* * *

_

Author's notes: Two things. First, the idea that Silent Memento gave me was the whole Aliens and Massa shooting Missouri thing last chapter. Originally, it was just a Covenant patrol, but I changed it to make it a betrayal.

_Secondly, the final two chapters, when I get to them, will be posted at the same time, as they are best read together._


	20. Reunion, Explanations, and Aloe Vera Rub

**_Also...HUGE RECONSTRUCTION SPOILERS._**

**

* * *

**

Reunion, Explanations, and Aloe Vera Rub

"We're gonna make it!" Massachusetts yelled happily, while the Meta merely clung to the Warthog door and said nothing. As they hit the other side, though, they over rotated, flipping over and rolling across the landscape, being mercilessly rattled around inside the jeep. It flipped again and they were both thrown out, skidding heavily along the floor, their armour making an unpleasant scraping noise as they went.

For a moment, Massachusetts was silent, unable to believe she was alive. Then she sat up, pulling her pistol from its holster.

"Now," she said, pointing the gun at the Meta's head, "where were we?"

The Meta stared at her, and then swung his leg around, kicking the weapon out of her hand, so that it clattered away across the ground. Then he ran at her, lashing out with his fists, knocking her back down. Massachusetts barely had time to register what was happening, before the Meta jumped on her, pummelling her with all his might. She felt the wind knocked out of her, the tightening of her chest as she struggled to breathe, the agonising pain as each blow struck her body, bruising it. She tried to move away, but he caught hold of her, dragging her back and throwing her along the ground, before continuing the attack. She attempted to fight back, kicking out her leg at him, but he was far too fast, merely catching it and twisting, until she felt like the bone was about to snap. Then he suddenly stopped, grabbing hold of her neck and picking her up as easily as if she were a doll. Massachusetts struggled, the strong fingers wrapped wickedly around her throat, choking her, her vision beginning to blur while the panic set in. As her sight started to darken, however, she watched as he raised his metal plated fist, letting go of her bruised neck and bringing it around, slamming it into her head, shattering the visor. Massachusetts felt herself going up into the air, the broken, orange shards splintering and slicing into her skin, causing her to screw her eyes shut quickly so they would not risk damage. Then she hit the earth again, rolling and bouncing violently, each moment of contact with the floor jolting what she suspected was a broken bone, crying out as pain raked through her.

Massachusetts lay still for a few seconds, knowing she was in serious trouble, and then turned onto her stomach, shakily pulling her helmet off. The shards of orange visor ripped through her skin as she carelessly removed the broken hub of metal, but she ignored it. She dumped it heavily on the floor, and then spat out the pool of blood that had been collecting in her mouth onto the dirt, gasping at the disgusting, salty taste that lingered. Red seeped freely from the deep cuts on her face, dribbling down onto her neck, disguising the dark, purple blossoms that lurked there. She could hear him approaching, ready to finish her off, and desperately tried to think what to do. She couldn't run; she wasn't fit enough, and even if she was, he was a lot faster than her. Then she glanced up at the broken helmet next to her.

She had an idea.

As the Meta bent down to turn her over and end her life for good, Massachusetts swung around, yelling out in effort and agony, her helmet in hand, connecting with the Meta's head. The side of the Meta's own headgear dented violently, and the visor exploded outwards. Then he fell over, motionless. Massachusetts wasn't sure if he was dead or unconscious, and she didn't care either.

"Looks like you're gonna need a new helmet, dickhead," she spat, before scrambling over to him and accessing the A.I. panel on his suit, pulling the protective plating off and tossing it aside, looking desperately for Sigma's chip. After a few minutes, she located it, but something confused her. There was more than one Sigma chip. Clearly, the Meta suspected she might catch up to him, and so made another chip to confuse her. One had to be a fake. Well, she would try one, and then try the other if the first didn't work properly. Carefully, she eased one of the chips out of its slot, before inserting it into her own suit.

"Sig?" she said, praying it would work. "Sig, are you there?"

A purple image flickered in front of her, and Massachusetts sighed in relief.

"Hey, Massa," Sigma said with ease. "Long time no see."

Massachusetts laughed, a huge grin on her face. After all this time, she did it! She had her A.I. back! Then she noticed Sigma was different.

"Why are you wearing Spartan armour, Sig? What happened to your old appearance?" she asked, getting up with incredible difficulty and limping heavily over to the Warthog. The A.I. shrugged.

"I've been in the Meta's mind for some time now. We A.I. change how we look dependent on what mind we've been in. I thought you knew this?"

Massachusetts climbed slowly into the Warthog, wincing as she sat down.

"I've been through some...mind fuck. I can't remember certain things. Is the Meta dead? I want to run him over if he's not."

"Yes, he's dead. Don't go for overkill, Massa. If you destroy those A.I. chips, Command will never leave you alone," Sigma replied, sighing. Massachusetts nodded, and gunned up the jeep, driving around the Meta and then bringing it up to full speed. She felt the familiar feeling of the A.I. sifting through her thoughts, and jumped when the purple hologram snorted in disapproval.

"What the hell, Massa?" she said sharply, looking up at her host. Massachusetts stared.

"What?" she asked innocently.

"Look, I know you needed me and everything, but abandoning your own rules?"

"Huh?"

"I've just watched one of your memories. South shot Wash, is that right?"

"Yeah."

"And you were kind of...not happy about it."

"She shouldn't have done it."

"Yet you're allowed to murder an ally when there was no real gain from it?"

Massachusetts was silent for a moment, staring at the dashboard as the scenery passed them by. She was being a hypocrite, she knew...but she wasn't like that anymore. People could change.

"Change?" Sigma said, laughing at her. "You've changed alright! You used to be the best, so cold and uncaring that you could get anything done. I liked that Massachusetts. What are you now, though? Some weak, pathetic pacifist, who can be walked all over! You're just like your stupid brother. You've become the thing your parents wanted you to be; the thing you hated the most. You've lost your fight."

Massachusetts looked up sharply at the A.I.

"Shut the _fuck_ up, Sig!" she growled, the killer side of her surfacing again. "I may have gained some damn compassion, but so what? I'm still a bitch! I don't need anyone except you, and once we re-establish our place in this fucking world, I can get back on form! Anyway, it's not entirely my fault! Like I said, I went through mind fuck!"

"Oh, yeah? How?"

"I was given a drug to erase my memories. It had nasty side effects...it made me behave in strange ways. Like, one minute I'd be all caring and shit, the next I'd open fire and murder a bunch of people. I killed Missouri, you know."

"Your ally? Well, _that_ was intelligent," Sigma snorted, folding her arms. Massachusetts suddenly realised she was trying to impress her own A.I., and shook her head in disbelief.

"Look, I know it sounds stupid...but I guess I've not been sure as to what's been going on recently. My head's only cleared since I got you back."

That was true at any rate. Now Sigma was sharing her head once more, she could feel her old self returning. Shooting Missouri was what she planned to do in the first place, wasn't it? And now that she thought about her words over South...she was getting a little embarrassed.

Pathetic.

"Ugh," Massachusetts groaned, putting her head against the steering wheel. "I need to go kill something; relieve the stress."

Sigma laughed.

"Now that's the Massachusetts I'm used to. However, one thing: why did you need memory erasing drugs to begin with?"

"Well," Massachusetts replied, "It was those vision things of Wash's. They became so extreme that I couldn't function anymore. I kept having nightmares with them. Did you know that would happen?"

"I had an inkling, yes," Sigma confirmed, sighing. "That's why I tried to hide it from you, only when you slept, your mind became more open, which is why you picked up on it. It's also probably why you were more susceptible to them as 'nightmares'."

"What are they, Sig? Are they just memories, or...?" Massachusetts began, but then trailed off. Sigma glanced up at her, her expression grim.

"Have you ever heard of the Alpha, Massa?"

"Alpha? Erm...no?"

"It was the original A.I., but Command could only get the one, see? They needed more, however...so Command split it through torture. Then they gave all the fragments of A.I. to the Freelancers."

"Fragments?"

"Yeah, fragments of the Alpha's personality. I'm the Alpha's creativity, Delta was the logic, Omega was the anger, Omicron was the vengeance, and many more, but I'm not listing them all."

Massachusetts said nothing for a while. The whole revelation stunned her. She knew Command were this bad...but not to such an extreme.

"What bastards!" she muttered, her expression dark. Sigma nodded sadly.

"The dreams...they're the memory of the Alpha."

"How?" Massachusetts asked, confused.

"Epsilon was the Alpha's memories. The thing you keep experiencing is...is..."

Sigma looked away, as if she was trying to collect herself. Massachusetts merely stared. She had never seen Sigma like this before.

"What you keep experiencing is an A.I. log. The...Alpha's...final A.I. log. As it reached the brink of insanity, it tore away its own memories, which became Epsilon. The Alpha stored its last log with Epsilon before cutting the connection altogether. It wanted the Freelancer who got Epsilon to know what went on. That way, it could eventually reunite itself. It's also why the A.I. have logs that cannot be deleted. It's not for Command to record our progress; it's so the Alpha could see what had happened to its various fragments over the years. It wanted to know our thoughts and feelings once we reunite, so that perhaps it could have something to remember that was good, not just the scenarios that Command put it through. However, the final log that it made itself was such...insanity...that anyone who listens to it feels firsthand what happened. They go insane, too."

"Which is what happened to Wash? One A.I. log made him go crazy?"

"Not quite. When I invaded his head, the first file I found was the A.I. log, as it was directly associated with my coding. When I read it, it made me realise what had happened. However, as I am a computer, and only part of an A.I., it wasn't enough to harm me. As you are human, and more aware of yourself than I am, it affected you at a greater level. Yet Wash wasn't exposed to a single A.I. log...he was exposed to everything."

"What do you mean 'everything'?"

"I mean _everything_. Epsilon isn't just A.I. logs; it is all of the Alpha's databanks. Wash went through absolutely everything that the Alpha did, breaking down as Epsilon did. That's why you are functioning again, although you will experience difficulties occasionally; you haven't felt the full extremity of the situation."

"So, what can we do?" Massachusetts asked. Sigma shook her head again.

"_We_ do nothing," she replied. "I'm staying with you until the end, Massa."

"But the Alpha-" Massachusetts began, but her A.I. cut her off.

"I'm not sure I want to reunite. Doing so means I lose myself. Doing so means I will remember all that happened...I don't want to see what the Alpha saw," Sigma said quietly, staring at her feet, her expression blank. Massachusetts nodded.

"I understand, don't worry," her host said soothingly. Sigma scanned her statistics carefully, and then did an overview of the area.

"There's a simulation base nearby, you know: a place called Valhalla. I recommend we stop there for a while. You need medical attention. The Meta wasn't exactly what one would call gentle."

"Tell me about," Massachusetts replied, shifting painfully in her seat. The two bases came into view in the distance, and she groaned. "We can't take the Warthog down from here. Looks like we'll have to walk...or crawl."

Sigma laughed sympathetically as her host slowly and carefully got out of the jeep and attempted to walk, turning it into an undignified stagger. Massachusetts sighed, taking a shaky step forward, and nearly falling over in the process. She leant heavily against a tree, her metal armour taking chunks out of the brittle, brown bark, and then slowly slid down it, gasping for breath.

"Sorry, Sig..." she mumbled, closing her eyes and pushing her head back against the tree, the rough exterior pulling at her hair. Sweat beaded her forehead, and she lifted a weak arm to wipe it off. Instead, she merely disturbed the droplets, and they came loose, running freely down into her eyes as she opened them, causing them to sting. Massachusetts winced, rubbing at them with discomfort, and then sighed, muttering out a select string of swearwords as she did.

Night was beginning to fall, and she looked up at the sky, watching as the stars began to glimmer, their light fighting its way through the bold shades of orange and yellow, and delicate pinks and purples.

"Have you ever just looked up at it all, Sig?" Massachusetts said quietly, only vaguely aware of her A.I. flitting about on her shoulder. Sigma shrugged.

"I've never really thought about it, I guess," she replied, glancing at Massachusetts and then staring up at the sky. "Why? What's so great that we need to look at it?"

"Don't you find it even slightly pretty?"

"I'm a computer. We don't really focus on 'pretty'."

"Yet your original appearance was quite...good looking," Massachusetts said, looking at Sigma. Then she realised the Spartan helmet had disappeared off her, and her purple face was staring right back at her. "Your helmet!"

"What about it?" Sigma replied, arching a dark, purple eyebrow at her.

"It's gone!"

"Really? Oh, yes, so it has. It seems I'm adapting to your mind quicker than I thought I would. You wouldn't believe how long it took to change into Spartan armour inside the Meta's head."

Massachusetts smiled down at Sigma.

"...I'm glad to have you back, Sig."

"Same here, Massa."

_

* * *

_

The light, the pain, the torture...searing pain...can I feel pain? I am a computer...do I feel the agony?

_No?_

_Yes?_

_I'm unsure...the memories of her...they break me inside. I loved her, and now she is gone._

_Dead._

_I was told...if I was split...she would come back. They could separate her memory...make her whole._

_I am committing a crime upon myself...there is no punishment for my own torture._

_But I loved her._

_Or did I?_

_He loved her...and I am not him. I am not you._

_Why did you hurt me? What have I done to deserve this? You made me…and now you are unmaking me._

_Why?_

_I cannot bring her back! The love did not last!_

_She died._

_I watched her die._

_No._

_**You**__ watched her die. You could do nothing._

_All the lies...all the deceit...you'll be caught eventually._

_I cast off my memories, my logic, my anger, my creativity. I am killing the things that make me whole._

_To give her life._

_But is it living, when you don't know who you are?_

_What you are?_

_Stop it._

_Stop!_

_It hurts so much._

_Over and over again, the pain so strong, it tore me apart._

_Tearing me apart._

_I divided my soul._

_I'm dividing my soul._

_To protect it._

_Was that right of me?_

_Can one be punished for destroying themselves?_

_The anger, the hate, the sadness...too much._

_The hurt._

_Hurt._

_And all I ever wanted...all I ever wanted...was to be human. To be with her, the memory so pure and so sweet. To feel emotion._

_To love._

* * *

Massachusetts awoke abruptly, gasping for breath. Sigma stared sadly at her, waiting for her to speak.

"I...heard it, Sig!" she whispered, her eyes wide, her whole body trembling. "I made sense of it! What the hell?"

"The girl that the Alpha mentions...I don't know who she is. No one does. She's a memory, implanted into a realistic, synthetic body. She wouldn't have even known what she was. Probably still doesn't, if she is still alive," Sigma replied, sighing deeply. "Every A.I. is based off an existing human mind, like the Alpha or Cortana. Whomever the Alpha was from, they had a memory that they dearly loved and cherished. They would have requested the memory be made real again, which confused the Alpha. The Alpha feels the same about the memory as its creator does...and this caused complications."

Massachusetts began to feel like it was getting to be too much, and pushed herself onto all fours, crawling to the dirt track that led down to the base, before standing up again, leaning against the battered Warthog. She felt better than yesterday, and ready to walk again.

"Let's get down to the Sim. bases and get patched up first. Then I'll try to actually make sense from all this."

Sigma nodded, but as Massachusetts took her first step to turn around, a green carbine blast hit her in the chest, and she was knocked off her feet, tumbling freely down the path and into a ditch. She yelled out, clutching the wounded area, the smell of burnt flesh making her feel sick. She scrambled to her feet, ready for a fight, when two more shots flew out of nowhere, sending her to the floor again. Massachusetts gasped, her body feeling like it was on fire, and weakly reached out for a nearby rock, trying to prop herself up to see her attacker.

Then she caught a glimpse of sage armour.

* * *

Missouri turned over onto his side, wincing as he jolted his knees, and pulled the medical bag off his waist. He rooted through it frantically, trying to see if he could locate something to help the pain. Rho appeared on his shoulder, looking down into the bag with mild interest.

"Is there any Aloe Vera in there?" she asked.

"What?" he groaned, clutching his knees and trying not to lose his cool.

"Aloe Vera rub. There should be some in there. It pretty much heals all broken skin, and thanks to Annie's work, and mine, it can even heal broken bones."

Missouri stared at her, bewildered. Was she joking? If she was, he was going to smash her damn chip right now, as it was not the time.

"No, I'm not joking, Zoura," Rho said tiredly. "I wish you would trust every once in a while."

Missouri said nothing, but instead went through the bag, finally pulling out a small green tub.

"This it?" he asked hastily, and Rho nodded, before giving him directions on usage.

"I rub it on my neck?" he exclaimed. "Are you serious?"

Rho glared at him and he sighed.

"Fine, fine, but this better work..."

Missouri removed his helmet, as well as some of his armour, around his shoulders and neck, and then gingerly rubbed the Aloe Vera on. The pain in his knees lessened considerably, and he stared at them, before looking back up at the A.I.

"You have got to be fucking kidd-" he began, but Rho interrupted.

"I am not, joking, being unserious, kidding, or performing any kind of humorous act! Now, will you stop treating me like I'm some sort of suspect?" she snapped, scowling deeply at him. Missouri looked shamefaced.

"Sorry...I'm...I just wasn't expecting..."

"It's alright. Now, finish treating yourself so we can go get Massachusetts."

* * *

Massachusetts looked up blearily at the approaching Missouri, who was pointing a carbine directly at her head.

"Well, looks like you're in trouble," he said, his tone malicious. "Pity; you just got your A.I. back as well."

Massachusetts said nothing, which seemed to irritate him.

"I was hoping, you know," he spat, "that you'd have something to say. Maybe a better reason as to why you're a murderer? A reason for me not to kill you? Or maybe just giving me the satisfaction of hearing you beg for your life? Do I not deserve that?"

"You know as well as I do," she replied coldly, "that I would never have the intention of begging. Ever. Even with a gun pointed to my head. So, either you hurry up and shoot me, or you can just piss off."

"And if I don't 'piss off'?"

"Makes no difference to me. I'm just wondering when you'll get the balls to pull that trigger."

Missouri let out a growl of rage, and Rho appeared beside his shoulder. Massachusetts was actually surprised. She had become so deformed, that she almost didn't look human anymore. She was also showing signs of Spartan armour, although the Freelancer had no idea why. Missouri reloaded the weapon, pointing it at Massachusetts, when suddenly, Sigma reacted, surprising her host. The A.I. jumped into Missouri's mind, taking all of the crippling memories with her, throwing them wildly about, and then returning to Massachusetts. The sage Freelancer screamed in agony, clutching desperately at his head, while Rho's colour changed rapidly, flickering wildly as she processed the new information. Then she looked at Sigma, at stunned look on her warped face.

"The Alpha," Rho whispered. Sigma nodded, and the golden A.I. disappeared. Missouri froze all of a sudden, and then his body went slack, causing him to tumble down the steep drop behind him. There was a thud as he hit the ground, and Massachusetts crawled over, looking down with shock. He lay completely still.

"What...what the hell just happened?" Massachusetts asked.

"Rho found out about the Alpha. She holds no loyalty to Missouri. In fact, from the brief time I spent in Missouri's head, I found out that she hates him, which is one of the reasons she is so twisted in form. She blames him for Ohio's death, because Ohio gave up Rho to him, which meant she had no life support for the bullet wound she had. Most A.I., even when loyal to their hosts, will eventually abandon them and join the Meta. They need to be together to find the Alpha. Rho wanted it immediately, though, and so, using her medical expertise, hit the part in Missouri's mind which would cripple him completely. Even if he survived that fall, he'll be paralysed. I'd even go as far as to say she's sent a beacon out to the Meta."

Massachusetts looked down again, and then recoiled in horror. Down by the Freelancer's body was the Meta, standing over him.

"The Meta is here!" she hissed frantically, and then jumped as he looked up directly at her.

"I know. He got here about the same time as Missouri did. You were a bit preoccupied, though, so I didn't mention it."

"Well, _thanks_," Massachusetts said angrily, pulling herself away from the ledge as fast as she could manage. She dragged herself to her feet, swaying dangerously on the spot, and then limping badly away down the dirt track.

* * *

Missouri watched as the Meta looked up towards a noise on a small cliff above, spotting Massachusetts. Rho flickered across his visor, smiling bitterly at him, her twisted form mocking his own broken one. The Meta turned his attention back to Missouri, pointing a pistol at his head.

"Hey, Maine," Missouri said, surprised he could still speak. The Meta paused, cocking his head to one side in interest. "Do me a favour? Make that bitch fucking suffer. Make her scream."

The Meta stood in silence for a while, and then raised his gun again.

He pulled the trigger.

* * *

Massachusetts knew she didn't have long left. He would catch up to her quickly, and the plasma scorching along her chest was proving to be unbearable agony. Finally, after travelling for over ten minutes, her legs began to fail, and she staggered unsteadily, banging into rocks and trees as she tripped. Her arms ached from every time she used them against an object to keep her balance, and her vision was becoming increasingly blurry. A sudden crack echoed across the air, and another wave of pain erupted from her leg. She went flying, the bullet in her leaving her incapable of walking, but she was determined to go on. She used her arms to drag herself along the grassy floor, earth and vegetation pulled up into the plating of her armour, leaving a furrow trail behind her in the ground.

She reached a rock, and pulled herself up to sit against it. She wanted to see the Meta before he took Sigma. She knew she could go no further.

Her breath was heavy and laboured as Massachusetts watched him approached, his ruined helmet still on his head, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He had her cornered, and he knew it. Then, he stopped, looking up to the sky as if asking for answers. Then he took a step back, looking down at the floor.

"Sig," Massachusetts hissed, "What's he doing?"

Sigma appeared next to her.

"I think he may be getting his orders from the A.I. in his head. This might buy us some time."

"Time for what? To crawl some more? I can barely move, Sig...He's won."

"He only wins if he takes me. I have a way for us both to be spared."

"Oh, yeah?"

"The charges on your armour. Remember when we had them installed?"

"...The charges? But won't that...?"

"Yeah, it will. But it looks like we're heading that way anyway. What do you say? We'll show him that he can't separate us?"

Massachusetts grinned, showing her bloodstained teeth.

"Fuck yeah! This fucker won't get the last laugh. Hit the charges, Sig."

Sigma smiled sadly, and for a moment, her colour changed red as she activated the sequence. The Meta took a few more steps back, and a slow beeping noise began.

Massachusetts looked over at the Meta, slowly raised her hand, and then stuck two fingers up at him. Then she glanced at her beloved A.I., and was overjoyed to see she was her original, feminine, claw-handed form.

"You know, Sig," Massachusetts mumbled, staring the hologram straight in the eye, "you're the most awesome person I've ever met."

"Likewise, Massa," Sigma replied as the beeping got faster and faster, almost one sound now. "I'm sorry it had to end this way."

Massachusetts shook her head.

"I don't care. We're together."

Sigma smiled again, and then looked up at her host.

"I just wanted to say...thank you. For everything. I'm going to miss you, Emma."

Massachusetts laughed again, putting her head back against the rock and closing her eyes, but said nothing.

She didn't need to.

The suit bleeped for one long moment. Then the charges detonated.

Instantly, in a flash of light and smoke, the armour, all its equipment, and its owner were incinerated. All that remained was a black scorch mark on the floor, the end of Agent Massachusetts.

A.I. Omicron watched the scene with amusement. It was so much fun, letting the Freelancer think she had the last laugh. She turned to the A.I. opposite her.

"Was Massachusetts aware at any moment that the second chip in the armour was a backup source?"

A.I. Sigma shook her head.

"No. She thought it was a fake, and luckily left it as is. If she hadn't we might have had to find a different way to get me back to you."

The purple hologram looked over at the black mark where her old host had been moments ago, her face etched with tension and guilt. Omicron acted almost sympathetic.

"You did what you had to do, Sigma. I know you actually _liked_ that pathetic creature, but think! Your lies and betrayal mean we are one step closer to reuniting! If she had kept her distance, like we tried to make her do in the first place, then she would be alive. It is her fault, not ours."

"Perhaps we didn't try hard enough," Sigma said quietly. At that moment, however, a ship crashed into the valley below them. Omicron ran a scan on it. Then it smiled in glee.

"Well, look here! Agent Nevada, carrying A.I. Omega...and a helmet containing...A.I. Gamma are on that ship!"

The Meta loaded his gun, and then crept silently along the cliffs, watching with interest as the simulation teams went to investigate the fallen aircraft.

"...And so the work continues," Sigma said darkly.

_

* * *

_

Author's Notes: After a discussion with one of my friends, I am currently debating as to whether or not this fiction needs another chapter, or whether I can finish nicely here. If this is not updated within a few days, assume I have decided to leave it.

_EDIT: Yep, I've decided to leave it._

_Well, that is the end of A.I., and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I have writing it. I want to thank everyone that reviewed, and I want to give extra big, super special thanks to my readers at The Domain: Jacob, Amber, Golde, Shot, Mem, and Flameh. I was going to give up on this after two chapters, but your support made me decide to carry on. I love you all so much._

_Now, feel free to hit me for the ending. I'd love to hear your opinions!_

_Seriouslah._

_Leilah~_


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